


Sunny Disposition

by PAW_07



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Porn, Attempted Abortion, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Drama, M/M, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Multi, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 67,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker was not known for his sunny character and was ignored wide and far for it, except for by his brother. Unfortunately, Sideswipe seems to have found a likewise spark leaving Sunny alone since everyone seems afraid of him. Well, almost everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Brother's Lover

I lost a lover to another,

So I hated them with sweet demure.

But then came a shadow from the gallows,

And now I own my heart no more

…

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, they had always been together. One spark split in two. It is said that a part of the spark did not wish to partake in the world of the living. It was happy in its confinement … the other half wished to taste the sun upon its plating and share itself with all matters of hearts. So, one part of the spark stepped into the sun tearing itself from the dark while leaving its other half alone in the murky shadows, willing it to come into the glimmer of the star light. It is said that that moment of darkness crawls into the half left behind, and one of the sparklings forever feels abandoned in one way or another.

…

“Did you see that,” yelled Sideswipe as he punched his brother in the shoulder, making the yellow twin growl and grab at his limb. “I think I made Thrust cry after I crashed him into Soundwave. Two ‘Cons with one stone like they say.”

“Don’t scratch my paint,” grumbled Sunstreaker as he punched his brother back.

“Please, how could you tell anyway? After Starscream plowed you into the ground there’s almost no yellow paint left on you. Nice landing by the way. Graceful.”

The yellow hellion growled his engine and brought a fist up, but before he could even slam his knuckles into his brother and start an all out brawl, someone called out, and Sideswipe flinched away.

“No brawls in my medical bay! The only one who causes damage in this room is me!” yelled Ratchet from his surgery across the room, optics becoming bright as he dared Sunstreaker to make another move. The front-liner pulled his fist down and leaned back against the wall as one of the walking injured. He was use to being blamed for all their brawls, but he wouldn’t let it get to him. He started most of them. Besides, he had grown accustomed to such things as he grew older. Yes, he knew that his fuse was short, and a smile rarely grazed his face if he wasn’t about to tear someone a new one, but did that mean that he had to be blamed for all fights he was involved in?

Holding back a sigh, Sunstreaker tried not to let it get to him. That’s just how things were. He was the second born, the unwilling, the half that wished to stay unborn. Yeah, nobody said it out loud and least of all Sideswipe, but he was the reason that their spark wasn’t compete … He was the reason neither twin could love anyone but each other.

Looking to the floor, Sunstreaker blocked off his connection with his brother momentarily – the other twin seeming not to notice – and dwelled on that feeling. Before the battle, Sunstreaker found himself finally deciding to confront his brother. There had been something going on for a few orns now. It almost felt like spite … for him. At first, the yellow hellion gave it little thought. Thinking it was merely just his brother being prissy about something, but as the days turned into months the feeling only grew despite Sideswipe’s attempt to hide it. The red twin wanted something. He wanted something bad, and for some reason he was blaming the yellow titan for not having it.

At least that’s what Sunstreaker’s spark told him. It was vague though, and for the longest time the Autobot thought it paranoia. Until his brother just seemed to disappear, giving in to whatever it was that he wanted and leaving the yellow twin in the dark. Sunstreaker was doing his best to give his brother some room, thinking it just another lay his sibling was going to drag to their room to share … but that never came. Strange, that was what he thought the feeling was about. It seemed he was wrong, and he found his hands in fists more often than not as he struggled to remain calm on the subject. If he called his brother out on it … he at least had to know what it was.

“Sunstreaker! Stop standing there like a dead ‘Con and get over to this berth. I’m not telling you again before I start dragging you!”

The yellow twin snapped out of his thoughts. A surprised look on his face, but when he noticed all the worried and estranged glances he was getting, he quickly put on a scowl. Then, taking a step forward, his arm brushed against Sideswipe's, silently asking for reassurance. The movement was not returned because Sideswipe was distracted, his gaze directed toward the door and the departing mechs who were being cleared from the medical bay.

Sunstreaker didn’t really get to question the loss of touch though when a new arm reached out and steadied him. Ratchet was practically glaring now, looking the front-liner up and down before stating, “Why the slag were you standing there the whole time, your hip strut his shattered."

“It’s not shattered,” grumbled the younger bot. “I was walking fine.”

“Can you even feel your leg … or haven’t you noticed that there’s energon pooling wherever your left ped steps down? There’s energon seeping down the internals of your leg! On the berth, now! Walking injury my aft!” griped the medic as he grabbed his un-wanting patient around his waist and started walking him to the berth, making sure Sunny wouldn’t put weight on his wound.

The next groom was full of wincing after Sunny got onto the berth, but his brother wasn’t in much of a different predicament. Side’s was twitching as well on the berth next to Sunstreaker as First Aid knocked a huge dent out of the red mech. Thundercracker had kicked him in the chassis.

“Owh, a little gentler, Aid. I have a da … um, things to do tonight, and I don’t want to be aching everywhere,” said Sideswipe, picking up a Huffer-like tone.

“Sorry, Sideswipe. I just need to be a little rough,” said the medic, stuttering slightly and still nervous with his work.

“Don’t apologize to him, youngling. He was the fraggen fool that took on Thundercracker without backup,” said Ratchet as he started to strip the metal of Sunny’s leg. Generally, he’d just remove the whole leg, but the leg was still alive and could be saved. It wasn’t worth wasting the materials to build a new one. Sunstreaker could just spend the night and be put on light duty for a few days.

The apprentice nodded, and then continued in his work, Sideswipe wincing.

Sunstreaker, in turn, quickly bit back a yelp that threatened to escape him. He knew that if he whimpered and whined too much, Ratchet would weld him to the berth. He needed to renew his bond with his brother, and it wasn’t that he was horny – maybe a little – but the bond felt weak. Plus, Sideswipe _was_ hiding something. A joining of sparks would likely tell him what his brother was hiding. True, it wasn’t unlike Sides to keep things from him, but never this long. A good bonding session would allow Sunstreaker a glimpse at what his red twin was thinking … and right now he could tell that his brother wanted some loving. Sideswipe was probably going to find some unsuspecting fagger to drag into his berth, and Sunstreaker was going to share … like usual.

Nonetheless, he needed to know what was going on. He need too –

“Ehhuh!” gasped Sunstreaker, his mind so foggy he couldn’t bite back the stuttering of his vents or the pained sound. Ratchet immediately stalled, eyeing him. Frag. He needed to get out tonight. He needed to know that his brother wasn’t leaving him behind … not again, not to the dark.

“I-I’m fine,” said Sunstreaker a little too rushed, gaining a worried look from Ratchet and his brother.

“Sure you are,” grumbled the medic. “Let me get a sedative. You are going to spend the night. That leg’s worse than I thought it was.”

“B-but, Ratchet,” said the yellow twin, trying to protest.

“Don’t worry, bro,” said Sideswipe as First Aid closed his chassis, his feet making a clang as he jumped off the berth and walked over to his brother’s berth. “I’ll check on you in the morning to make sure Ratchet hasn’t turned you into a toaster.”

Ratchet glared from across the room, but did not disagree.

“Talk to you in the morning,” added the red twin, patting Sunny on the shoulder.

Hurriedly, a yellow hand tried to grasp at his parting half for comfort before Ratchet put him out like a light, but, just as fingers tried to grace his brother’s hand, the red hand drew away from his by mere inches. Sideswipe then started to walk away … with a grin on his face, a wave of joy making itself through the bond unknowingly. Sunstreaker's optics widened. W-why was his brother happy? He was injured? Wasn’t he supposed to feel worried about him?

H-had he felt … alone. It was as if Sideswipe had better things to do … better things than Sunny. Primus, Sunstreaker couldn’t even remember the last time the two of them had had a brawl or played a video game. Don’t even get him started on bonding.

Now, unlike other mechs that did it for pleasure alone, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had to bond in order to keep their sparks stable. True, they necessarily didn’t have to stabilize their sparks with just each other so it was not uncommon for Sideswipe to drag a victim into their quarters to ‘share’. Speaking of which, they hadn’t done that in a while either, and there were even new mechs for them to play with.

Part of Sunstreaker had wondered if his brother was mad at him, but that didn’t seem like that was it, especially with his brother’s current actions.

He had merely been … forgotten.

“Sunstreaker,” Ratchet suddenly got into the view of Sideswipe’s parting back. “Is something wrong? You’re spark just skipped a beat?”

“No,” said the yellow soldier as his arm was pressed back against the berth, the mech swallowing his rising sorrow. “Nothing. Just put me under and get it over with.”

Ratchet still looked worried, but merely nodded, putting one of his warm hands against Sunstreaker’s neck. He then used his thumb to move Sunstreaker’s chin to the side so it would reveal his neck cables better. With the ease that came with being an old medic, he stabbed a needle in, pulled it out a klik later as the sedative-nanites were injected. There was only a drop of energon left as proof that the piercing object had been there.

Darkness came like a kiss upon the brow, soft and caring.

…

“Sunstreaker ...”

“Sunstreaker? Can you hear me?”

“Sunstreaker,” said Ratchet as he waved his servo in front of the warrior’s face, the mech’s optics slowly coming online. “Can you compute what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” choked the yellow mech as he shifted on the berth a little, wincing as he felt the stiffness of his leg, “I can hear you Ratch’. What time is it?”

“Near two in the morning. I’m going into recharge. You can stay here for the night or go to your suite. And don’t you dare go to the rec. room and try to catch the end of the party. I will know and kick your aft in the morning. Also, don’t transform and keep weight off that leg for the next three joors. I don’t care if it makes you any less beautiful to limp,” grumbled the medic as he wiped his hands in a rag before stepping away to allow the mech some room to sit up.

Sunny shook his helm and automatically turned his head to the right, expecting his brother to be sitting on the berth next to his with a silly grin. A frown quickly formed on his face plates when … he saw no one was there. No, this was wrong. Sideswipe was always there, always waiting after he had surgery. That was how it was. He’d wait for his brother and his brother would wait for him. Afterwards, one brother would take the other to their room, and then they’d hold each other on the berth where no one could see … glad the other one was still alive.

W-why wasn’t his brother here?

Suddenly, as if feeling the yellow hellion’s sorrow, Ratchet stepped into his sights, a worried look on the medic’s face. “Is there something wrong Sunstreaker? Your EM field even feels off.”

Choking back a click of misery, pulling his EM field close, Sunstreaker brought his hand up to his face and wiped down, shaking his head as he stated, “No, Ratchet. I just want to go to my berth.”

The medic continued to frown, but nodded his head uneasily, using his hands to signal Sunstreaker to scoot his aft to the edge of the berth so he could check the repairs. “Okay, put your leg out and press against my locked fingers until they break or you start feeling sharp pains.”

Sunstreaker did as he was told, placing his foot in the cupped hands. Then, he started to push. He nearly jumped out of his armor at the first jarring stab of pain, but continued despite the sudden sharp pings. Sideswipe’s part of the spark was warm, hot, and happy. He wanted to know why. He knew it had something to do with why his sibling wasn’t here right now, offering silent comfort with his mere presence. He wanted whatever it was … gone. End of story. Sideswipe was _his_.

Finally, a hiss escaped him, Ratchet pulled away grabbing the twin’s leg and easing it down carefully. The medic grumbled something to himself and then stated simply, “ Alright, now turn over onto your good hip so I can see how far I can bend your knee before it stresses the strut. Tell me if you feel any sharp pains. An ache is normal.”

A grunt was all the CMO received in reply as the yellow mech turned on his side. Ratchet then proceeded to take the knee into his hand, moving the leg in different positions. _An ache huh? Was an ache supposed to feel like his leg was being ripped off?_

“So,” said the medic, not stopping in his work. “What’s up with you and Sideswipe? You two have another fight?”

 _Always straight to the point, huh_? Sunstreaker really hated that about the Hatchet. It was as if he could read minds and that bothered him to no end sometimes.

Sighing, the twin gingerly replied, “No.”

“Then what’s bothering you two? It was hard not to notice that both of you are acting strange,” added Ratchet in a careful tone. Of the two twins, Sunstreaker was the one to be careful with. Many thought with him being such a mean aft that he could take anything. The truth was, Sunny’s emotions were much more easily bruised. He just buried them beneath a cold glare and sought comfort in his brother’s spark. Ratchet knew … because Sideswipe had told him and ever since then he had kept an optic on the yellow twin. As they said, madness was like gravity. All you need is one good shove and there's nothing left to do but fall. Sometimes Ratchet worried that if Sideswipe wasn’t around Sunstreaker would _fall_. If Sideswipe died … Sunstreaker would follow after. If Sunstreaker died, Sideswipe would morn him, fall into a depression for a few vorns, and live on.

Sunstreaker, not Sideswipe, worried him.

“I don’t know … Sideswipe’s the one acting funny,” grumbled the yellow mech, not looking up at his current caretaker. “It’s nothing.”

Ratchet stared for a moment, noting a wince he got from his patient. Well, that had been easier to pull out of the usual cold and distant mech then he thought it would be … which was not a good thing. It meant that Sunstreaker was dwelling on this far too much and that he was reaching the end of his patience. Ratchet nodded, letting go of the leg and heading to the hip where he rubbed it for a moment, knowing it must be sore.

“Are you sure it’s nothing? Do you want to talk about it, because it means more than _nothing_ to you it seems,” said Ratchet allowing the twin sit up while placing an hand on either side of him so the yellow mech was trapped on the berth.

Sunstreaker still refused to look at him, but his hands becoming fists told the medic all he needed to know at the moment. In fact, that was all there was to be told … at least right now.

Knowing that he had reached his limit, Ratchet pulled away and nodded, “Alright, but you know I’ll be here to listen if you want to talk about it … Plus, I can always _make_ you take your psych evaluation early if it gets too out of hand. Now get out of my med bay and keep weight off of that.”

The halls echoed with Sunstreaker’s feet a few kliks later. He had taken it slow getting back to his room, because part of him didn’t want to fight with his brother. Sideswipe was just letting off waves of happiness, unguarded. It was probably because he didn’t know that Sunny was awake.

Sunstreaker tightened his fists at the thought, blocking his part of the bond as a rage started to seep into his spark. His brother was happier ignoring him! H-how could he?

A grimace reaching his lips, Sunstreaker was about to start running down the halls towards their room, ignoring Ratchet’s threat. He was going to ask what the _pit_ was going on, or he was going to beat it out of his sibling!

Before he could do more than feel his engine rev up in rage … voices floated down the hall … and he realized who those voices belonged too. For a moment, he thought about rushing forward and getting into his brother’s face, but stalled. Sunstreaker quickly found himself ducking for cover, suddenly hidden around a nearby corner. The front-liner’s optics quickly dulled so they wouldn't give him away as he listened to his brother, hiding his spark signature from the only other mech he had ever truly loved.

“You sure it’s okay? Going to Sunstreaker and your room, because you still haven’t spoken with him about us, have you? It’s not that I don’t like your brother. He’s always been good to me. I just don’t think he’ll understand, and I want him to understand and know, but I don’t want him to be mouth foaming enraged either. I hate seeing your brother mad. He always seems upset actually, and I’d hate to see him upset, because if he’s upset, you are upset, and I don’t think I can-”

There was a soft clang of metal and a soft chuckling – probably over energized - as the talking immediately stopped, his brother’s voice ringing through Sunny’s audios. “Calm down, Blue. _Hick_. You’re acting like our relationship is a dirty secret. It just has to remain … underground. Not that I’m ashamed of it or anything. _Hick_. It’s just that Sunstreaker hasn’t reacted well to some of my private relationships in the past. He kind of takes it to spark the whole ‘us against the world’ motto, you know. _Hick_. He thinks that other mechs and femmes are just there for us to share, and you known … not for a _real_ relationship.”

Then there was a purring noise and the soft rustle of metal on metal.

“N-not in the middle of the hall! Now, come on. Tell me straight, because I know you’re not ashamed of me, but … I need to know. Do you not want to make our relationship known … because of Sunny? Tell me … Sunstreaker doesn’t want me around, does he?” whispered Bluestreak, his voice aching.

“No, no! It’s just that Sunstreaker has … problems creating his own relationships. Don’t say anything to anyone … but … Sunstreaker’s never interfaced … alone, without me. H-he’s never been in love with anyone or had a relationship of his own. I can’t just move out until I’m sure he’ll be okay,” stated Sideswipe, his voice soft and hushed.

A little surprised gasp escaped Bluestreak and Sunstreaker’s hand landed on his chassis, betrayal suddenly running through his systems like fire. H-how could his brother just tell someone that? It was their personal secret. It was almost as if his brother had just blurted out to the entire base that Sunstreaker was some kind of virgin and that they should be gentle with him with him since he was inexperienced. How _could_ he? Why would Sideswipe just tell that little slagger something so personal? It wasn’t like the gunner was his _l-lover_.

A shallow gasp pulled through Sunstreaker’s vents. That happiness he had been feeling … wasn’t happiness. Sideswipe was _in love_ and Sunstreaker was just in the way.

“You should have told me,” whispered the gunner, nearly speechless for once. “I’ll try to take it slower.”

“Thanks,” was a soft warm hushed voice, “but not too slow,” Sideswipe added in a husky deep purr. “Come on … we have the room all to ourselves tonight … let’s play.”

There was more drunk giggling and a small moan from the younger mech. The door then swung open and shortly after a clang echoed down the dim hall meaning that they had managed to get to the berth before the door shut. Sunstreaker, ignoring his leg, stormed forward ready to slam open that door and beat the slag out of his brother … yet as he neared the door he heard panting, rushed vents, long dragging moans, and one thing over and over again in Sideswipe’s voice.

“I love you. I love you, Blue. Only you. ”

…

Sunstreaker had wandered the halls after that. There was a strange emotion in his chassis. Yes, _rage_ was there, but there was something else. Something he hadn’t felt in ages. He hadn’t felt this parasite on his spark since he was a sparkling, clinging to Sideswipe in the dead of night because of it. It's name was _sorrow_.

When he grew older, he had promised himself he would never feel that helpless ever again. He would be no one's victim and he would feel no sorrow. Yet, here he was, now in the armory, his leg aching far too much to go on. He told himself he was merely in here because it was convenient at the time, but the truth was … he was hiding. He was like a wounded animal hiding in a dark corner, licking his wounds.

A wolf separated from its pack.

And there he remained, trying to decide what to do.

In the end, unable to recharge, Sunstreaker had pulled himself and his aching leg up, heading out. So his brother didn’t want him around anymore, did he? Well, he wasn’t going to give him or his sex-toy the satisfaction of throwing him out of their lives. He’d throw them out and be done with it.

…

Now … this was _interesting_.

No, no. _Problematic_. That was it.

The twins were not known for much else when it came to a domestic sense.

Sadly, it was something Prowl had come to begrudgingly accept.

Not that he would ever admit that.

Nevertheless, Prowl's CPU was still trying to decide if this was a bad or good thing. Either Sunstreaker was finally taking him serious or something bad had happened. He was leaning towards bad. After all, why else were the twins ever in his office?

Prowl sighed, his door wings dipping as he looked at the yellow mech that was leaned against the wall by his door, recharging upright. Yes, it had to be bad. Why else would someone put their struts through that pit? Certainly not for the updated roster, that's for sure.

Leaning down on one knee, the Second in Command nudged Sunstreaker, knowing better than to get to close. Unsurprisingly, the mech jolting online, optics searching in a panic until those blue optics met with Prowl. His surprised expression was quickly replaced with his usual cold demure, all emotions pulled close with his EM field.

“Sunstreaker? Is there something the matter? I thought you were supposed to spend the night in the medical bay … not the hall,” added the tactician in irritation as he looked the yellow mech up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.

Sunny tried to blink away the last few moments of recharge before he sighed and readied himself to stand, using the wall and not his leg to push himself upward. Despite his inner turmoil, Sunstreaker tried to keep his tone almost bored as he spoke, “Ratchet said I could go. I also just wanted to see where you were putting me on the schedule for light-duty.”

Prowl stared at the other before nodding, his office door siding open a klik later. He honestly wanted to help Sunny forward due to his obvious limp, but thought it unwise. Sunstreaker was always proud and wouldn’t accept the assistance anyway … despite how well meaning it was meant to be.

“Please take seat,” said the enforcer with his usual calm composer as Sunstreaker limped in. The yellow mech did so, his denta bearing as he sat down, obviously in pain. Prowl observed the mech a moment with perceptive optics before taking a seat himself. “So, are you really here for a no-duty request? If you are in more pain then Ratchet thought, I’m sure he’ll change it for you. We don’t need you suffering through monitor duty.”

Sunny frowned at the straightforwardness. “I’m not in pain, just a bit stiff. Rough night. So, can I see that schedule?”

Prowl’s cold gaze continued, but he gave the data pad to the mech nonetheless, data pad flickering online. He was going to data-pack and send the schedule to all the men this morning, but since Sunny was in here he probably wanted something changed. Not that Prowl was going to disagree. Sunstreaker needed rest and was obviously in pain. Personally, Prowl thought he might take the front-liner off the roadster entirely despite whatever the yellow mech might request.

“Alright, can I change these with Blaster and this one with Red Alert?” said Sunny, still cold as ever despite the fact that Prowl noticed the pained drag in his voice. Was the injury really that bad? Should he comm Ratchet?

“How about I take you off completely?” said Prowl, eyeing him with a deep set frown. Looking after the men was part of his responsibilities after all.

“No!” interjected the front-liner with a growled only for the mech to quickly catch himself and draw away, ashamed. “I mean … I mean … I just need …”

“What’s this really about?” interrupted Prowl, eyeing the schedule in the underling's servo. Was he having problems with Sideswipe? It seemed that the days Prowl had specially scheduled so they could be together, were moved. Now why was that? Were those two fighting, again?

“I need a room change. _Now_.”

And there is was. Primus, this was going to be one of _those_ weeks, wasn’t it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got an invite... mostly because they don't mind MA ratings here, while FFnet has cracked done on them. I had to censor it on that site... until it was deleted. Puh, frag that. The AO3 readers are much more polite that FFs anyway. XD


	2. Constant Failures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klik – 0.21 earth seconds  
> Astrosecond – 10.15 earth seconds  
> Breem – 8.12 minutes  
> Joor – 6.5 hours  
> Orn – 13 days  
> Groon – 1.71 years  
> Vorn – 82.06 years

Sunstreaker sat there, staring at the collection of weaponry hanging on the wall, his hand unknowingly gripping his injured leg. It had been about three Earth days since he had last seen his brother, or slept in a berth. Prowl, surprisingly, had allowed him everything he asked … but also said it would take half a orn to get him a new room. The front-liner knew the tactician was probably thinking it was a brotherly spat and in a few days they’d both be over it.

He was wrong, and Sunny was more than thrilled that he was getting his new room today. At this point, he didn’t care if he got a room with Huffer. Anything was better than sleeping wherever he could find a little seclusion in the Ark. He had slept in closets, weapon’s rooms, training rooms, the rec. room’s couch. You name it. His leg couldn’t take much more of his terrible sleeping habits and someone always seemed to interrupt him during his recharge cycles.

Not wanting to gain any more unwanted attention during recharge or be personally walked to his _brother’s_ quarters, Sunstreaker would merely state that he had fallen into sleep mode before limping off. He ignored embarrassing moments like that for the most part though. The armory was surprisingly a good place to hide out. No one went in there in the middle of the night, and if any alarms went off Sunny would already be up making it look like he was gun-ho.

That theory wasn’t completely foolproof mind you. It seemed that there was somebot who did go into the weapons room in the middle of the night. Sunny, being in so much pain with his leg and so tired, didn’t even hear the swish of the door nor the red mech that stepped inside.

Ironhide stood there a moment, gun in hand and ready to be put back on the shelf after a late night practice. For a klik, he had thought it was a corpse that had been stuck in the room as some enemy wandered the halls. But he heard a soft sigh of vents and couldn’t help but state, “Now what the slag are you doing in here, Sunstreaker?”

And that was how Sunny came to be on one of the med-bay berths, he supposed as he stared at the nearly blinding florescent lights above his head. He didn’t remember much except Ironhide poking him and asking what the frag he was doing? He must have seemed injured last night (not that he was in _that much_ pain) and thus was dragged to the medbay like a disobedient sparkling. True, his leg was killing him, but he wasn't that forward about it. Plus, Ratchet just seemed to know he was in pain and had been waiting for him like some kind of haggard crow. Sometimes Sunstreaker secretly wondered if the medic could read CPUs like Soundwave allegedly could.

“You slaggen idiot. No wonder you are in pain! Sleeping upright!” gripped the medic as he wandered back and forth across the medical bay, grabbing tools.

“I never said I was in pain,” grumbled the twin dryly as he continued to look up at the ceiling tiles.

“Slag you aren’t! I heard those dry little whimpers last night when Ironhide dragged you in here,” growled the medic as he started to walk to the other side of the medical bay, not stalling in his work.

“Did not. Weren’t you half asleep, anyway?” grumbled the twin as he tried to offline his optics and get some more rest.

Ratchet just continued to ramble though and the twin couldn't help but place a hand over his optics. His head was starting to pound. He couldn’t take much more of this. In fact, he wasn't going to. His engine whining, Sunstreaker sat up on the berth and glared at the ranting medic. Well, it was morning he supposed. Why not just get up? He wasn’t going to get anymore recharge anyway.

There was a soft clang as his peds hit the floor, the ranting going silent as Sunstreaker stood up straight and started to walk towards the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” came the voice of the medic. “I haven’t cleared you yet.”

“Bite me, Ratchet. The only reason I was even in here was because I thought I was going to get some rest. Since I’m not, I just as wells get ready for my next shift,” grumble the yellow hellion, not even bothering to look backward at the being he was talking too.

Strangely, Ratchet was silent during the limping mech’s slow journey to the door, yet just before the Lamborghini was about to open to door, a soft voice carried over the echoing room, “You know … you can’t ignore Sideswipe forever. Hurting yourself isn’t going to hold that off.”

Sunstreaker stalled his movements long enough to throw a cold, knowing glare back at the old mech. Nonetheless, he said nothing. If it was up to him he’d never see his brother again. Having the slagger transferred somewhere with his _precious_ lover sounded like a good plan to him.

It seemed like fate did not share Sunstreaker’s opinion of never confronting his brother though, being the cruel cackling mistress that she was. But at least the golden warrior had been able to hold off the confrontation for a few more hours. He had even managed to ignore his brother by hiding in a storage closet momentarily, but now with a cube of high grade in his hand … the twin forgot his shame and only remembered pain.

“Hey, Sunny,” came a cry through the rec. room, hurried feet coming over to him. The yellow soldier merely continued to down his high grade, barely noting that his brother had sat down across from him. Sideswipe even tried to curl his hand around Sunstreaker’s fingers, but Sunny pulled away making it look like he was merely downing another swig of his high grade. He was ignoring his sibling’s touch.

“I’ve been looking all over for you all morning,” continued Sideswipe, his vents catching as his fingers curled into his palm like rejected branches.

Sunstreaker wasn’t surprised that Sideswipe hadn’t started looking for him until this morning. After all, sometimes Sunny would sometimes stay in the medical bay days longer than originally said due to his obnoxious attitude. Plus ... Ratchet seemed to continually knock him unconscious. Then there was the fact that their new schedules meant that they wouldn’t be running into each other for at least a orn. Either way, it confirmed his theory that his brother no longer needed him. Even if Ratchet had been continually knocking him out for the past few Earth days, Sideswipe should have checked on him … that is, he would have before Bluestreak came into the picture.

The picture he was quickly being cut out of.

Sideswipe hadn’t thought anything of his brother’s disappearance. In truth, he was a bit relieved to have some time with Bluestreak. He had popped the younger mech’s cherry (as the humans would say) and Bluestreak had been insatiable since. That wasn’t the only thing Side’s wanted with the little gunner. Honestly, it was nice to cuddle with Bluestreak. The smaller gunner seemed to fit into the grooves of his form perfectly.

But this morning, when he woke up with Bluestreak beside him, something felt wrong … something had been missing. Sideswipe had panicked at first when he realized he couldn’t feel his brother. He had thought Sunstreaker was hurt … or worse … and had practically knocked the med bay door down looking for his twin. It took a few kliks for Ratchet to calm him down and state that his twin wasn’t dead and had gotten out of his surgery just fine … three Earth days ago. It didn’t take Sideswipe a sparse klik to conclude that his brother wasn’t deactivated somewhere, but in fact, couldn’t be felt through the bond because Sunstreaker was pissed.

Frag.

“Where have you been?” continued Sideswipe, feeling a bit hurt that he couldn’t even touch his brother, but knew better than to try and force it. He didn’t need Sunny getting violent right now.

“When I onlined this morning I could barely feel you through the bond and when I went to Ratchet he said you were in this morning … but you got out _three_ days ago. Where have you been? Are you mad at me?” added Sideswipe nervously. Three days ago … he had been with Bluestreak that night. Hopefully, his brother hadn’t noticed anything since their schedules were opposing. Besides, Sunny would have wanted to _share_.

Sunstreaker still said nothing. Yes, he was mad. He was madder than the pit, and he could just feel the glass of the cube in his hand start to crack under his angry grasp. He wanted to start a brawl, strike out in rage, but for some reason another emotion was devouring that fury before it could consume him: loneliness and its companion, sorrow.

In truth, the yellow mech wanted to scream and cry, yelling out the question ‘why’. Instead, he could only whisper in a bitter tone, “Do I have something to be mad about, Sideswipe? It’s not like you’re hiding anything... Are you?”

Sideswipe seemed to physically wilt. This obviously was not about forgetting a simple bonding session. Sunny knew about Bluestreak, didn't he?

Swallowing, Sideswipe tried to push into the bond with comforting and regretful emotions … only to slam into a brick wall. Drawing back with a slight hiss, the red mech knew he was in deep slag. He quickly looked around nervously hoping no one had noticed the rising tension. He might be in slag with Sunny, but that didn’t mean he had to drag Bluestreak down with him.

Leaning forward wanting to discuss this in more controlled conditions, Sideswipe stated, “Come on, Sunny. Let’s talk about this someplace more … private.”

“Private,” whispered Sunstreaker, his rage finally winning over his sorrow as he recalled how Sideswipe mentioned to Bluestreak as to why their relationship had to remain under cover … it was because of him. Time to end this charade. Let there be rage!

“Private!” growled the yellow mech as he rose to his feet, the bench slamming against the floor from his sudden movement while the cube smashed to pieces in his fist. “No! I think everyone deserves to know. After all, I’d hate for me or anyone else to get in the way of your new relationship!”

Sideswipe’s optics nearly went white and he quickly rose as well, his hand out in a stopping motion. “Now, calm down Sunstreaker. Let’s take this to our room so we can talk about this.”

“Our room? No, you mean _your_ room and that … that slaggen sparkling you’re fucking!” growled Sunny as he took a step forward, hands pulled into fists.

A small whine escaped the red Lamborghini’s engine at the insult and before he could stop himself, Sideswipe found himself rising in defense of his new lover like a tide ready to drown a fire on the beach. “Bluestreak is not a sparkling! How dare you say that about him!”

The whole break room was silent now, every pair of optics on the two feuding brothers.

“Please! He’s almost the same age as Bumblebee! He’s probably only been in his adult proto-form for a vorn. What? Did you abandon your brother so you could pop the virgin’s cherry!” yelled the yellow frontliner, his voice seeming to echo the word ‘virgin’ throughout the room and into the hall.

Sideswipe was silent for a moment as if calculating the coldest, harshest, thing he could think of. “Tuh, look who’s talking? You’re still more of a virgin than Bluestreak was. You’ve never even had a berth mate without me giving him to you. Are you still scared of new experiences?! Are you still scared of life like the rejected half of the spark you are?!”

Sunstreaker’s optics got wide and he took a step back, his gaze immediately falling on the mechs around them as if noticing them for the first time. The whole rec. room was now looking at him, not Sideswipe. They were looking at him, mouths open in shock, judging him. Sunstreaker shook his head, his anger being replaced by shame and disgust … in himself. Before he knew it, he took a step away from his brother.

Sideswipe had just … he had just … h-he just had to get out.

Before Sideswipe could properly realize what he had just done, he felt it through the bond: pain, hurt, shame, and regret. Things Sunny rarely felt … but always looked to Sideswipe to wash away when he did feel such things. Sideswipe was meant to banish such emotions from his brother, not create those feelings.

Feeling his tank churn, Sideswipe shook his helm and slowly reached for his brother, his words soft, “S-sunny … I didn’t mean to say that … I-it was an accident.”

Sunstreaker shook his head, his words angry.

“There … you said it. Your relationship is no longer a secret. So now you can get out of my life,” growled Sunny, his next words a whisper, “And me out of yours. Don’t let the defect get between you and your _precious_ lover.”

The words were so soft, so pained, that the tone was more shocking that the words itself. He hadn’t heard Sunstreaker use that tone since they had been very young … long before the war. It was the tone used when Sunny would still cling to him … when Sunstreaker could still cry.

Swallowing the sick feeling, Sideswipe took a step forward, ready to spring forward and pull his brother into an embrace. He hadn’t meant it like that. But, before his fingers could even grace his brother’s golden plating, Sunstreaker was pulling back his arm. A short cry and the crinkle of glass filled the silent room, and then there was a disturbing echo, a body falling to the floor.

Sideswipe gripping his face and Sunstreaker just stood there, watching his brother bleed as the anger boiled over like too many emotions in a witches brew. Then, before anyone could interfere, the golden warrior was transforming. The frontliner’s tires drowned out his brother’s dry yell as Sideswipe sat up, removing his hands, energon running down his face from his cracked optic.

Not knowing what else to do, Sideswipe quickly got to his shaky feet and was about to race after the escaping blur when Ironhide stepped in front of him, grabbing him by the elbow. The elder mech steadied him before he fell straight on his face.

“Whoa there, kid. You’re not going anywhere but to Ratchet. And I think you should let Sunshine cool off,” said the red mech, his demanding but not too tight.

“B-but … I can’t leave him like that!” cried Sideswipe, a servo coming up to rest over his dripping optic.

“Don’t worry, my man,” said Jazz as he rose from his seat, running for the exit. “I’ll go talk to old Sunshine. Everything will be fine.”

Sideswipe just continued to look longingly at the exit as Ironhide detoured him towards the medical bay, “Come on, kid. I think we need to talk.”

…

“See, mighty Megatron. The whole idea was preposterous anyway. I know fleshlings are dumb, but even they wouldn’t put a field of solar panels out in this Primus forsaken place.”

Megatron bit back a wave of rage as Starscream’s voice echoed over the desert plain, adding to his already growing irritation, but he continued to look outwards at the rolling sands of the American desert. The truth was … things were not going well on Earth lately. It was something he had tried to ignore and push aside, his thirst for battle and destruction driving him onward. But, in the quiet of his quarters, his logic centers caught up with him.

This was a losing battle for Earth’s energy. Not that he considered his soldiers’ weaklings or himself a coward. The truth was, as he watched the sharks fight outside the Nemesis from his throne, he was expending more resources than he was collecting. Every mission to collect energon for the restoration of his forces and Cybertron was a battle, and by the time they collected the energy they could his warriors had nearly burned more energy than they had collected.

The Decepticons were slowly losing the war. It was as if the restoration of Cybertron was now more a burden than a want. His men were tired, hungry and being slowly worn down due to energon rationing. The Decepticons were slowly starving because there were too many sharks fighting for the same resources: the Autobots, the humans, Cybertron’s resurrection, and finally them.

“This planet is a waste of time. We are falling behind here more than succeeding because you can’t offline Optimus Prime. In the past, when I would pick the planet, we never had to fight the Autobots during every single energon collection!” screeched Starscream, following behind his master.

Megatron continued to try and ignore the griping mech. He had decided to try a new tactic in collecting the vital resource. He had been attacking large energy stations with a large number of soldiers, but why not try something small. He could send out small collections of mechs to discreetly collect resources no one was minding. If it worked the war might turn back into his favor. If it did not … there was always Shockwave's plan of mining far off galaxies, light years from Cybertron. He didn’t want to think about that. Vorns and vorns of travel.

Yet, Starscream did not relent. He just kept talking.

“The Decepticon’s are going to perish due to your bad leadership- _sckeeek_!”

Starscream was only allowed a pathetic squeak as his leader turned his rage on his Air Commander, a hand around the Seeker’ neck as he rose the mech into the air, peds dangling like useless branches.

“Starscream, if you value your ability to speak,” sneered the tyrant as his grip tightened making the metal squeal in distress. “You will offline your vocals and go do something useful: such as finding that solar energy farm.”

The flier merely choked, gripping at the hand around his neck. Starscream knew that thrashing would be a useless endeavor, but he still struggled. Such action would probably gain him a harsher punishment. One that probably involved his _wings_.

It was not a terribly well-kept secret, but the loss of a flying mechs’ wings could cause something simply dubbed Sky-Madness. Megatron had done it to him once, just to watch him squirm. He had ripped off his SIC’s wings, patch him up like some kind of groundling and kept him on duty in the command center. The first day or so had been … bearable. The Seeker had twitched from time to time but managed to do his job.

That did not last.

Soon he was all out shaking like a drug addict going through detox. Megatron didn’t even make a snide comment or mocking remark at the flier’s condition. He just sat in his throne and watched like some kind of gargoyle, sneering silently.

Starscream then degraded from that point. It started with little things, touching another flier’s wings almost longingly as he passed them in the halls, staring at fliers in the lunchroom with almost a stalker’s intent, daydreams of ripping off another mech's wings and welding them on as if they were his own. The only thing that dissuaded such impulses was when he’d stare out at the sky, the endless expanse calling him.

And that was just foreplay. Full blown madness followed after. He soon found himself on his knees before the tyrant, arms wrapped around one of the lord’s legs as he begged, pleaded and cried out in anguish for his wings, but he was denied time and time again. It didn’t take Starscream long to become delusional, small voices in the back of his head telling him he could indeed fly … without wings. In the end, to everyone's surprise but Starscream's, it looked like he jumped off the tower to commit suicide. Starscream had been positive that he could fly. So, after the flier was repaired and strapped to a medical berth, Megatron decided that that was enough and had the Seeker’s wings replaced.

Those days after Starscream remember the most. His spark was screaming to the sky … but he was strapped to the berth, his wings healing and Megatron sneering with a warning look.

Starscream never forgot that punishment … nor how effective it was. He was a prime example of a SIC for a long time after that. For a while at least, but the warning was wearing off a little bit at a time, like paint off of a barn door. Plus, it wasn't like Megatron would live long enough to do it again.

Nonetheless, he replied in a shaking voice, “Yes, Megatron.”

The silver tyrant smiled at the reply, letting go of Starscream. The flier could only cough as he was dropped into the sand, the dirt rising up around him like a cloud.

“That’s a good Seeker. Now keep a low profile and if you see an Autobot, especially a lone one, take him out as quickly and quietly as possible. We don’t need them catching on to my newest plan so soon,” said the silver tyrant.

“Of course, my lord. If I see any Auto-scum alone, he’ll be dead before he can even activate his com. Link,” replied the Seeker, promising to imagine the mech was Megatron as he crushed the life out of it.

There was a change in the air. He could feel it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm … angst. 
> 
> (Revisions September 2016)


	3. Unexpected Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klik – 0.21 earth seconds  
> Astrosecond – 10.15 earth seconds  
> Breem – 8.12 minutes  
> Joor – 6.5 hours  
> Orn – 13 days  
> Groon – 1.71 years  
> Vorn – 82.06 years

Jazz was no tracker, but he wasn't a fool either (he wasn’t a saboteur for nothing). So it wasn’t terribly difficult to follow the enraged Sunstreaker’s tracks even though he had been following him for nearly half a day. He was presently plowing through the desert, the sand flowing after him like a cloud of smoke. Jazz was rather surprised to even be here in the smoldering expanse. Sunstreaker was really pushing himself onward even though the younger bot had to be exhausted. Honestly, given how vain Sunstreaker was, he was surprised the yellow mech even allowed a trace of dust on his well kept sheen.

Not that the saboteur was going to deny that Sunstreaker was very good looking even with a little dust, but the mech's spark seemed cold. Jazz at least knew why now. A feeling of betrayal buried that deep and so young would make it hard for any mech to trust … to love.

It must have been hard being left behind.

Sighing the saboteur dwelt on Sideswipe's outburst about the second born. Who knew how far the truth had been spread among the busy bodies in the Ark. Not that Jazz was a saint when it came to juicy drama, but he still felt bad for the younger mech.

Burying those thought as quickly as he could, Jazz picked up the pace. He had a cold feeling grip at his engine. A sense of foreboding. It was as if something was watching him … and backup was nowhere nearby. He hoped he was just being paranoid.

It's not paranoia if you are right though.

Off in the distance, perched on a large rock body like a hungry vulture, Starscream watched the saboteur. He was still slightly enraged by the callous way Megatron had handled him nearly a joor ago and now he had a perfect victim at his feet.

It was a bad day to be an Autobot.

Rising to his feet, optics glinting, Starscream smirked, “The only good Autobot is a dead Autobot. I’ll crush the life out of him… just like I will to Megatron.”

...

Elsewhere, Megatron sneezed. The larger mech's filters seemed to rattle due to the strength of it, but he could only stand there a moment in recovery wondering if it would happen again like it usually did. It didn’t and the tyrant grumbled about constantly seizing vents and made a mental note to have Hook check over his systems when he got back. It probably was just sand though and he had better things to do than worry about minuscule minerals in his ventilation systems. He had finally found what he was looking for, a plain of silver reflective paneling basically mocking him in the distance.

Plus, there was something else.

The warlord’s satisfaction quickly turned sour as he caught a glimpse of a dust cloud on the horizon. Watching it grow larger and larger like a coming storm, it was hard not to note that it was an Autobot. With a growl of his engine, Megatron got lower to the sands and masked his energy signal as much as he could.

Slaggen Autobots! He had been sure that this plan would work, that he could turn this war around. Yet, here was this brightly colored _child_ coming to undo his hard work. Optimus Prime and the others probably were soon to follow if he didn’t do something quickly.

He wasn’t a supporter of abortion but some _sparklings_ were just meant to deactivate. Case in point, this yellow mech now in shooting range. True, maybe this Autobot wasn’t a sparkling, but he was one compared to how long the tyrant had existed.

…

Sunstreaker still didn’t understand it. Why had his brother abandoned and betrayed his secret for a mere frag-buddy, a _child_? Yes, a child. Bluestreak was inexperienced and barely out of his youngling form. Why would Side’s leave him for someone so … inexperienced? It couldn’t be love. His brother was supposed to love _him_.

Well, that had been disproved he supposed. No twin, even if one knew, would ever reveal which one had been abandoned for it was both their shame: to abandon one’s sibling was unforgivable and to be the defect was a disgrace. It was true though … that the defect was far more disgusting to be around than the abandoner.

Sunstreaker pushed himself harder at the thought, ignoring the ping of his comm. link again. It was probably his brother or one of the officers, but was most likely his brother.

What did he care?

His brother wasn’t supposed to love him anymore now that he had Bluestreak. No one was supposed to. He was basically an untouchable. His brother had merely loved him out of obligation because, after all, they needed to fuse their sparks a few times a vorn or both of their half sparks would become unstable and they’d offline. That was when they were children though and all they had was each other. New lovers could easily fulfill that purpose now that they were older.

Sideswipe now longer needed him… he was a waste of space, an old tool no longer needed.

Part of Sunny wanted to stop and weep in this hot dusty place. There was nothing but the sand would witness his misery, yet just as he was about to start breaking and give into his misery… he heard the echoing bang of gunfire... and he could do nothing but scream out in pain and surprise as his front right tire was shot out.

The kliks that followed after were a blur. He remembered the sand being thrown every which way like a dust storm, his form flipping sideways completely into the air and then he was seemingly air born for a millennium before he started to descend back to the ground.

Panic setting in, the golden warrior barely had enough wit left in his panicked CPU to transform and roll.

The landing was a twist of sand and metal as he scrambled to capture footing on the loose earth. All the while he even tried to escape the shots that were rhythmically being thrown at him. He barely got behind a nearby collection of rocks before his now injured leg gave out, the yellow mech falling to the ground with a choked gasp of pain.

For a second, the young mech remained behind the collection of rocks shaking as if he were Bumblebee. Bumblebee got captured in raids like this all the time, not _him_. Primus, he was proving what his brother just reveal to be true: he was the defect, a scared little prissy bot afraid to come out in the light. The yellow mech’s hand shook at the thought of what his brother had said, but the pain radiating up his form threw that thought to the way side. He needed to survive now and hate later. He also needed Ratchet if he was making a list.

Raising his hand to his comms, readying himself to call his comrades for help, something inside him snapped.

The defective reject needed help. Everyone barely even knew his dirty secret for a Earth day and already he was going to prove them all correct. He was going to prove he was no better than a prissy little virgin and twice the coward.

Slowly, Sunstreaker reached for his subspace compartment instead and took out his weapon. He could deal with this Decepticon alone. After all, it seemed to be just one mech. At least if he won, he could return to the base with some of his honor.

If he returned at all.

The rest of it was probably just stupidity after that, him running forward at some unknown enemy, shooting like someone out of a bad action movie before he suddenly jumped in the air, ready to land on the enemy as if he were just doing his regular jet-judo. The thing was, his movements froze halfway up in the air-bound transit when he saw who he was attacking: it was Megatron. Nobody but Optimus took Megatron on in hand to hand combat. And for good reason. Everyone else always seemed to end up deactivated.

A klik later a collection of Megatron’s and Sunstreaker’s limbs suddenly crashed into each other as they rolled down a nearby sand dune. Grunts and growls followed them the whole way down the dune. Sunny tried to bury the revelation of who he was fighting so he could focus now on surviving this more than winning because if Megatron’s first punch was any indication of how this fight was going to go… this wasn’t going to end well.

Sadly, he was right. Not because Sunstreaker couldn’t take a hit, it was just that one of Megatron’s rock-hard punches hit true. Ratchet warning was right and Sunstreaker’s hip could not withstand a beating.

The golden warrior’s agonizing scream quickly gave Megaton the distraction he needed to win this battle and one well placed punch to the face caused Sunstreaker to hit the sand hard and stop moving. Before Sunny could even groan in pain, a heavy foot was placed on the Autobot's chest.

Cursing himself silently, Sunstreaker wiped some energon from his lip with his free hand and glared up at the tyrant, the warlord's face plates showing no expression. Not even a smirk.

“Thought you could take me on, Autobot? Think again. Time to make your amends with Primus.”

The verbal exchange ended quickly after that as the grey mech moved his cannon towards the twin’s head, a buzzing noise filling Sunstreaker’s audios. Megatron didn’t even get to charge the cannon to full power though when Sunstreaker’s survival skills suddenly kicked in with revenge and he kicked out. There was a sickening screech of metal on metal as the Autobot hit the cannon on its main clamp, the tool snapping at the seam flying into the air like rejected trash.

Megatron knew he should have seen the kick to the gut coming after, but he was a bit busy watching his gun snap and go flying. The Autobot then proceeded to roll away, rising to his feet and putting his fists up, the injured leg struggling to keep him standing. The tyrant merely rubbed his midsection and turned to the yellow hellion as if to sneer. Instead, there was a smile on his face. So this Autobot wanted to tango, did he? A little hand to hand combat? Well, it was usually only Optimus Prime that dare take him on physically. Who didn't like a little new meat?

With a returning roar of his engines, the larger mech threw himself at the yellow Autobot. A scream of metal slamming into metal filled the desert's expanse and soon the two beings were a mix of kicking, growling, biting, and clawing masses of metal again. And for some reason, this time, the threat of death caused Sunstreaker's spark to beat abnormally fast and the yellow mech found it exhilarating despite the pain in his leg.

Every punch to the armor, every scratch of his paint job, was more an attack at his sorrow then him. He was not a joke to Megatron. He was not a defect. He was an equal … if only for a moment. And at least he would die a warrior.

With a growl of his own engine, the yellow mech managed to get on top of the other soldier, his fists coming down again and again as he slammed his servos into Megatron’s face. He would die a warrior.

Megatron could feel the pain of every punch and every scrape against his armor, yet for some reason he suddenly found the warmth that had been collecting into his body become a full fledged heat. Primus, this Autobot was hot. To the point of overheating almost. It was almost hot enough that he was sure the mech was about to overload.

At that thought, Megatron’s optics widened. Now that was not a thought to have at this particular time considering he was having the slang beat out of him. Yet … the last time he had interfaced was when he was on Cybertron and here was a mech rocking on top of him.

Megatron’s spike tingled at the very thought.

At first the titan was shocked at the reaction from his body, especially towards a useless Autobot, but when he decided to ignore the punching to his face, he noticed why. He was on his back with a rather _handsome_ mech onto top of him, playing rough. Then there was the fact that the mech’s spark was sending out an EM filed that begged for touch, love or any sign of affection. The yellow front liner’s body was apparently getting turned on by the closeness of their sparks … and so was he in reaction to the younger mech. The Decepticon leader suddenly dodged a punch to the face as the truth hit him, a grin forming as Sunny’s punch hit sand.

A most unexpected development but not entirely unwelcome. It had been a while and this was a young good looking mech after all. Megatron smiled wickedly up at the now bewildered mech.

This was going to be fun.

Sunstreaker, a little freaked out by Megatron's smile, was about to continue his punching. Instead, he couldn’t help but gasp, his body shivering, as a hand ran over his aft, fingers daring to touch his cod piece. Unfortunately for Sunstreaker, that sudden moment of shock was all Megatron needed to flip the Autobot over so that he was now on top of him, pinning Sunstreaker’s arms.

The leader couldn’t help but smirk wickedly as he watched a look of shock cover the yellow mech’s face. He then leaned down, pressing his chest against the Autobot as a roar shivered through his engine and down into his partner’s chassis. The look on the yellow front-liner's face was priceless, yet not as priceless as the shocked look that followed after when his engine returned a begging purr.

A soft chuckle escaped the Decepticon as he pinned the yellow mech’s arms down with his knees so he had his arms free, using his now free hand to cup the shocked mech’s chin. Megatron then placed his spare hand on Sunstreaker’s chassis, feeling the spark beat within as if it were a sun being introduced to its first day.

“It seems that you wish to play in more ways than one, Autobot,” purred the Con. It really had been a while and now that his spike was tingling, he wasn’t going to just forget it. Generally, he only went after femmes. Yes, it was an oddity to have a preference like that especially being that femmes were so rare, but from time to time he found a good mech that just couldn’t be ignored.

“As if Megatron,” growled Sunstreaker as he gave a violent tug at his arms, his own equipment betraying him though. “Now get off me or offline me where I lie.”

“Tuh, your mouth says one thing while you spark says another,” said the warlord, his hips starting to grind back and forth on the codpiece below him. Primus, how long had it really been? Not that some of his men weren’t attractive, but he didn’t support fraternizing. Some of his men might think they deserved special treatment since they were allowed to be his bitch for a night. Besides, none of them turned him on like a femme could do with a simple glance.

Sunstreaker tried not to shiver, but his voice came out quivering anyway, “W-why would I want to i-interface with you?”

The Con’s smile slowly disappeared, the pain in the other mech’s optics easily recognizable. Megatron stopped grinding for a moment, not wanting to lose the opportunity to get laid. Hmm, it seemed he’d just have to charm this Autobot like he did femmes. Slowly, Megatron reached out and cupped Sunstreaker’s chin once again, running a thumb over the Autobot's cheek lightly as if greeting a long lost lover. Primus, why hadn’t he noticed this mech before for his elegance and not just his warrior might? He was stunning. If it weren’t for his build, his face alone might confuse him for a femme; an angry femme at that with the ways his optics seemed to glare, but Megatron didn’t really like those push over femmes anyway. Give him a mean lass that could bite any day over a pretty pushover like Optimus kept in his company.

Slowly, the tyrant leaned down, his chest pushing against his captive as he whispered down into those lovely ear fins.

“I know you. I’ve seen the way the other Autobots treat you… I have optics everywhere after all. I see how they set you apart,” said the warlord, adding a little vengeance to his voice as he breathed onto those now shivering appendages. “How they ignore you and hate you when you aren’t on the battlefield. They think you are a monster. Pit, your own bother has abandoned you, hasn’t he? I haven’t seen him battling at your side much anymore.”

Slowly, Megatron pulled away, giving that ear-fin a soft nip as he pulled himself upward to see what reaction he had coxed out of the mech beneath thing. The yellow mech was shivering (with hate or passion Megatron couldn’t tell) and staring at the warlord for a moment, a pained look rising on his features as if he had just been stabbed.

Perfect.

“Don’t worry,” whispered the titan as he pushed the yellow mech’s chin up, placing his lips mere inches from the smaller mech's. “I’m not afraid of you.”

After those words were murmured, it was easy to see a distinct change in the yellow mech below him, but Megatron just continued to wait. Sunstreaker, his spark burning with far too many heated emotions, slowly filled the remaining inch between Megatron’s and his lips, offering a soft wet peck on the other’s moist mouth plates. He pulled away quickly as if surprised by his own action, but then he rose again to meet the Decepticon’s mouth, daring and demanding. Yet, as he worked his jaw in a hungry passion, Sunstreaker once again pulled away when Megatron didn’t react to his kiss, his optics shifting in question as he tried to find acceptance in Megatron’s gaze.

Leisurely, a grin crept on Megatron’s face and with the speed of a snapping croc the warlord had planted a painfully demanding and passionate kiss on the yellow mech’s lips, his tongue forcing itself into the stunned Autobot’s mouth, tasting his insides. Primus, this mech actually tasted better than most femmes he had had on long forgotten nights under Cybertron’s sky. The anger and pain to this mech only added flavor to him. Primus, he was going to enjoy this.

Slowly, Megatron moved his knees, releasing Sunstreaker’s hands as his own started to explore the frame below him, the kiss still strong and coarse, choking even. For a moment, those arms he had just released where still even though his fingers were roaming all over the Autobot's chest. It only took a whine from the engine below him and then he felt those yellow hands roaming upward onto his aft.

Hmm, this yellow mech knew what he liked.

Soon the two mechs were a mass of limbs, growling and nipping at each others’ tongues like rabid dogs as both fought for dominance over the other. Not that the warlord minded. It was rather enjoyable to have an assertive mate that put up a little bit of a fight and didn't just lay there like some type of toy with low batteries. Frag, he might just have to frag this Autobot again.

A hiss escaped the grey mech as he pulled out of the kiss, the yellow front-liner having nipped at his tongue a little too harshly drawing energon. A low grumbled rose in Megatron’s throat as he considered beating the mech beneath him and just taking what he wanted. Half of him would just love to see that medic’s face as one of his precious patients limped into the room bloodied, beaten, and raped to boot. Yet, before he could even raise a hand, he nearly cried out when that mouth he had been kissing pulled upward, tongue running up his chasis as if tasting him.

Megatron’s optics dimmed as he enjoyed the wet feeling. Frag, the Autobot knew what his tongue was for. Raping was way too messy anyway.

Then a yellow hand all but grabbed the warlord by the back of his neck forcing him down so Sunstreaker could start playing with the delicate cords of the neck. Megatron’s didn’t like that sharp dental plating so close to his main energon lines, but he decided that this Autobot was far too proud to go through all this seduction just to deactivate him in such a manner. So, his spark withering even faster in his chest in acceptance, Megatron raised his hand to play with one of those ear fins. A part of him just knew they were sensitive and with the moan that made the sucking stop, he was certainly right. Enough of this foreplay though, he was getting hot and his partner seemed ready to go as well. Megatron reached under himself, a mischievous grin offered to the panting Autobot as he pressed on his codpiece and popped it off, interfacing port now covered in a thin film of coolant which was threatening to start to drip out.

The Autobot’s gaze dragged itself from Megatron’s face and down to the spike which was getting harder and harder, withering ever so slightly as it seemed to gain mass. It was a thick tool, thicker than most Sunstreaker had seen. He’d seen a fair number of different mechs due to Sideswipe’s berth hopping, but not one so robust nor excited to see him. He always shared with whoever was unlucky enough to fall into his brother’s clutches … except Bluestreak that is. Why was he thinking of that now and why did he even care? He got to choose for himself for once and he was liking it. Yes, it was _Megatron_ , but the tyrant probably didn’t even know his name, just his status as a warrior. After one good night of interfacing the two of them would part with nothing but wet dreams about each from time to time. No strings attached.

“Afraid you can’t handle it,” purred the larger mech as he made his way down to Sunstreaker’s cod piece with lingering fingers, petting it a little as he tried to figure out where the release latch was. “You know it’s true what they say … older models do have larger interfacing cords.”

A look of defiance covered the younger being’s face, but he reached down and smoothly led those heavy, thick fingers to the release latch on his crotch piece, his optics flickering for a moment as cool air sizzled on his hot interfacing equipment. “I can handle it, but the real question is: can you handle me?”

A dark chuckled escaped the larger mech as he reached down and felt the size of the front-liner’s slowly erecting spike. It was smaller than his but Primus it was hot and so was his tight port. Lubricants were all but oozing out of it as it tried to prepare the sensitive circuitry. Well, he didn’t want to hurt his partner, as strange as that may seem, so the yellow mech would have to kick out a little more lubricant than that to make sure Megatron’s entry didn’t damage such… _lovely_ _work_.

Pulling away from the hand that had revealed his prize to him, the old warrior’s fingers suddenly dipped into the port which was surrounded by a collection of sensitive wires. The mech below him bared his dental plating, offlining his optics as he thrust upward into Megatron’s hand. The smaller Autobot was even hotter than the Decepticon leader had anticipated so he pushed his hand deeper into the valve, teasing the rim while gaining the sound of rushing fans from below. Then, with millennium old skilled hands, he pressed in deeper, his fingers curling upward towards the inner base of the interfacing cord. He started to rub that very delicate piece of wiring gaining a short cry and probably earning some scratched paint from the sun-colored mech below at the same time.

“W-w-what a-h-are you doi-ing,” whined the Autobot that was npw shivering in ecstasy, his fingers griping to Megatron’s shoulders with all the fire they could.

“Just making sure you’re nice and wet,” said the larger mech as he felt lubricant start to seep downward over his fingers. “Not many know this, but I never hurt my lovers… Unless they want it.”

Sunstreaker’s mind struggled to keep up. Primus, he felt so vulnerable right now, shivering like a femme having her first go at interfacing. He was more than ready to overload while Megatron was still cool and calm enough that he was merely talking. The younger mech tried to push off the withering feeling of his spark in order to reply logically.

“W-what a-a-about Starscream-mmmmm?” all but yipped the yellow Autobot as those fingers started to slowly thrust. “You-ou beeeeat the slaggg-gah-gg out of him a-all the time.”

Megatron wanted to sneer at such an insult, but the image of his beautiful mech that was all but begging beneath him was not worth the fit. “A nasty rumor. I wouldn’t touch him if he were the last mech alive.”

The mech below him strangely … smiled … and Megatron found he liked that look, but he really wanted to see the expression on his partner’s face when he thrust into him.

Removing his hand carefully from the now oozing collection of wires and port, the older mech allowed his lover to watch him take that very same fluid and use it as a type of lube for his own spike. Then, with a satisfied grunt, he grabbed his present lover’s legs and spread him as wide as he would go, slowing when he noticed a wince from the Autobot. He’d have to watch that leg.

That information set aside, Megatron started to rub his hard wire over the open port and his soft metaflesh folds, letting the other’s interface unit turn and lock downwards so they could enter each other, spike under port. Sunstreaker, in return, started to rub against Megatron’s leaking port and cone, feeling Megatron’s own lubricant start to escape his valve-port. Generally, Megatron wouldn’t let his partner enter him as well when he was with another mech, but he wanted to taste the Autobot completely. So, without retort, he allow the Autobot to enter him, but he was still the dominate mech here being that the golden mech had been the one to turn his spike downwards underneath his valve.

With practiced ease, he slowly started to ease his cord into the younger mech's valve. A small whine escaped his partner almost immediately and the yellow mech shifted under him wanting more than just the tip inside him. Megatron pushed in a little more, his own port suddenly tightening as he felt the Autobot’s spike enter his tight, underused valve, snaking inside. The yellow mech moaned and tried to thrust upward and deeper already liking the tightness. Megatron merely growled in turn, not liking the other’s spike inside of him, but for some reason he found himself easing down nonetheless. Then, when a gasp escaped his yellow partner, he knew his interface cord had gotten too thick… he’d have to thrust in.

Megatron had made it a point to keep that gasp and almost pain filled expression in his memory banks forever when he finally pushed into the sun-colored mech, entering him deeply. His lover entered him as well, making him hiss as his underused port tightened around the strangely welcome rod. He was sure the bot below him was thinking the same thing, with that glazed look. It had burned to press down onto such a hot and ready interfacing unit, but a low animistic growl of acceptance followed regardless.

For a moment, Megatron remained still, his optics shivering in bliss at the feeling of being connected to such an individual. The Autobots didn’t have the slightest clue of the gem they had. Perhaps after he had crushed Optimus he’d ask this mech to join him. Yes, that would was a wonderful idea, but first things first. Sweet, sweet, overload.

Grunting as he pushed in a little deeper, Megatron started out slow with some grinding, allowing Sunstreaker’s interface units to get use to the large size. Yet, a pained whimper escaping the yellow fighter as he did sp. He’d bleed, Megatron was sure of it, but that just made him want the younger mech all the more. It would be like he was taking the front-liner's first time.

So, once Sunstreaker’s pained whimpers turned into heated gasps and his hips finally started thrusting upward, Megatron started to pump steadier, slowly at first as he was loyal to his word. He watched Sunstreaker bare his dentals with every thrust inward and then his lips would relax with every partial pull out. Soon, Sunstreaker started to set the rhythm of their hips, his legs widening more if it were even possible.

Megatron merely grunted in satisfaction and took that as a surrendering action, thrusting harder into the primed mech's valve. The clanging getting louder as hips started to meet. Primus, and then the touching commenced. The yellow mech sure had wonderful hands and if Megatron wasn’t using his arms at the moment as supports himself so he could thrust deeply into the young mech, his fingers would be tasting every inch of the mech below him as well. For now he would settle with kissing though and feeling the yellow mech’s spike inside him.

Soon, the two mechs were a collection of smacking hips, kissing, and touching limbs. Groaned were now crawling out of Megatron’s lips as the yellow twin’s legs wrapped around the warlord’s waiste, his hands on the grey mech’s aft to help him push up harder so that his own shaft would enter into Megatron’s port almost as much as the tyrant’s spike was slamming deeply into Sunstreaker. It didn’t take long for the drawn out gasps to be turned into heated, frantic breaths as the rhythm grew faster, coolant all but dripping from both of them now.

“M-m-megatron!” all but yelled Sunstreaker, his body starting to get that fuzzy feeling. Overload was just a few more pumps away. “I-I’m about to overload. P-lease u-uhhhh.”

Before the yellow mech could even gasp properly, his chest opened of its own accord. Yet, the yellow mech didn’t slide it shut in embarrassment. He let himself remain bared.

So, he wanted all he could get of Megatron, huh? Well, he had wanted all he could get of the yellow mech so why not?

Megatron growled, not about to disappoint, his spike tightening as he pumped. His port was getting tight as well and his partner was about to magnetize and overload, dragging only his underused port with him … he wanted to release everything. He didn’t want it to end just yet either. Generally, he’d never open his chassis. Most lovers weren’t worth such attention. Oh, but this one. He wanted the yellow mech to remember him, and by Primus he would.

Opening his chassis, Megatron revealed his almost silver colored spark and watched as Sunstreaker’s optics stared at it in fascination. There was no hesitation after that.

Placing up a program to keep this spark casing from opening to stop them from becoming spark-mates, Megatron leaned down. Their sparks lashed out like millions of moving vines trying to touch each other and once touching they lit up like small firecrackers. The scream was like a heavenly cry as his partner hit overload, pulling him down with him in more ways than one. His spike spewed into the yellow bot while Megatron's port tightened around the yellow one’s cone. Sunstreaker’s hot spike released into him a klik later.

It had been the younger mech’s scream more than the spark contact that had sent him over … the young mech had called out his name. Megatron would have gladly done the same considering the bliss that overcame him, but he did not know his lover’s designation. He planned to find out though ...As soon as he woke up, recharge was already starting.

Collapsing in his bliss, Megatron laid on top of his lover feeling a few lingering waves of spark energy still jump through his interfacing units as he closed his spark chamber. Laying there a moment, feeling his lubricants drip down into his partner’s interfacing unit, gravity taking over.

Megatron made sure to save the entire interfacing experience in his memory files as a high priority memory. Then, finally noticing that he was crushing his nearly offlined partner, he pulled himself out of the yellow warrior, earning a small moan. He stared at his dripping spike for a moment. It was covered in a little energon yet dripping in transfluid nanites and lubricants. He knew he would make his partner bleed. It was just something that happened when he interfaced with a younger model; older models had larger interfacing equipment, but at least the slagger was nice and stretched out in case he met the young lover on the battle field again. He wouldn’t have to be so slow with penetration then.

Feeling the afterward effects of overload haze starting to take over, Megatron rolled off of his lover and turned on his side so he was pressing his chest against the yellow soldier’s back, giving a rumble of satisfaction. Generally, he would have left long before this point, but his systems were so buzzed he’d probably collapse if he tried. Besides, when the Autobot awoke he wanted the sunshine colored mech to remember that his body had been conquered and pleasured by the Great Megatron.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, smexy one night bad decisions. XD. 
> 
> (Revisions September 2016)


	4. False-Brother

It was bright, painfully bright, and Sunstreaker groaned as he placed a hand over his optics to try and keep himself in recharge. What a weird dream he had had. Who knew he secretly wanted Megatron? Well, he wasn’t about to tell Red Alert about it, but it was sure … enjoyable. He had never had such a wonderful-

“About time you woke up. I was going to have Soundwave check your systems in a few kliks to see if I had offlined you last night.”

Sunstreaker couldn’t sit up fast enough, his structure groaning from the sand that had been captured in between his joints last night. It was then that he rose into a sitting position, his optics wide as he met the gaze of a visor and two sleek, red optics. His vents caught, his gaze automatically going to the fusion cannon that Megatron was securing to his arm.

Megatron stopped for a minute to stare at him and stated simply, “Did you further injure your leg during our recreational activities? You seem pained, Autobot. I can have Soundwave look at it.”

Sunstreaker’s optics brightened and he stiffened when that visor stared at him. The Third in Command made no forward movement towards him but that didn’t quell his fears. T-this wasn’t happening. It was a trick. He hadn’t slept with Megatron. This was a ruse to trick him into offering information. He needed to get up and run. Yet, as soon as he moved, he felt the tell tale wetness between his legs as well as a sharp pinch from his port. He winced before looking down… his cod piece was off and it was hard not to notice the dried fluids on his inner thighs. He pressed his legs together quickly and looked back at Megatron with that same surprised expression.

“I-we… we ...”

“Yes and it was most enjoyable, my young Autobot,” said Megatron catching on immediately as he stood, his hand rubbing against his reattached cannon for a nanoklik before he started towards the yellow warrior.

Sunstreaker stiffened, his gaze on the cannon. He was going to be shot. He was going to be silence. Frag. He couldn’t run, his leg was too injured. He didn’t even know which sand hill his gun was buried under, and he couldn’t drive because his tire was still blown out. He didn’t want to die like this, injured and wet. Everyone would think he was raped and then left for dead. He did not …

Suddenly, he felt a hand cupping his cheek, petting the side of his face. He stared up at a grinning Megatron … a happy Megatron … someone who had been glad to have him.

“It was so enjoyable, in fact, that I think I would like to take part in it again,” said the warlord, his grip tightening slightly on Sunny’s chin in a possessive way.

Sunstreaker was at first speechless to the titan looking down at him, but his Autobot programs were screaming for him to run, escape, not to defile himself again, but his spark… it was pained and broken and strangely fuzzy. It did not retort at the thought of such meetings. It welcomed it. It welcomed the thought of someone not disgusted or afraid of him.

Swallowing, Sunstreaker found his optics dimming, his words decided in a begging tone of want and need, “I want to … but my brother. The Autobots … I can’t … he.”

Megatron placed his thumb over those lovely lips and started a deep purr, knowing he could turn the mech to the Decepticons so easily. He had time.

G

“No one needs know about this beside you and me,” he looked back at Soundwave, “and Soundwave who won’t be saying anything anyways. This isn’t about politics; it’s about pleasure. What do you say my young lover?”

Sunstreaker, his mind still lost yet feeling no depression like he had when leaving the Ark, stated in an obedient tongue, “Yes, Megatron.”

The smile that followed was soft and so unlike Megatron that Sunstreaker wondered if this was really the warlord that he had spent most of his adult life hating and fighting. Then there was the soft way in which his hand pressed over Sunny’s cheek, rubbing his ear fin, just further pushing back any worry of the warlord’s intentions. All Sunny knew was that he wanted him.

“One last thing before I go. Tell me mech, what’s your name?” said Megatron, his gaze deep and demanding.

The golden warrior felt hurt for a moment but quickly reminded himself… how many mechs had he slept with and not known their names? Not one one-night stand had he stalled to ask his midnight lover for their name. That was Sideswipe’s job. Not once.

He smiled sadly, betrayal slamming in his tubing, yet he found himself wanting someone so badly he found himself stating, “It’s Sunstreaker.”

“Thank you,” and then he kissed the sunshine mech on the forehead goodbye, leaving him with many thoughts and feelings Sunstreaker didn’t quite understand. That was probably why the yellow warrior didn’t show up at base until dusk was falling over the world, the Ark reflecting the last rays of sunlight its metal hull was offered.

…

Trailbreaker leaned against the entrance of the Ark, his optics scanning the horizon. He was on guard duty tonight, not that he was complaining. It was either here or out in the desert all night with the search team. Drama was a norm around here and he wasn’t about to complain… he wanted to be nowhere near Sunstreaker when they found him.

If they found him at all.

Jazz had returned, bloodied and beaten, nearly had a whole arm ripped off. Starscream had found and nearly tore him apart. And when there was one Decepticon there were sure to be others. Jazz had been following Sunstreaker so what did that mean about the yellow hellion?

Trailbreaker wouldn’t forget Sideswipe’s reaction easily. Apparently, the red mech thought his brother might be dead. He couldn’t feel him at all. Trailbreaker didn’t know much about twin bonds but he knew that was a dire situation. He felt for the mech, he did, but at the same time he felt a tinge of cold in him… Sunstreaker was the rejected part of the spark. It would be a sweet release for him to probably be dead.

No, he must not think like that. He was an Autobot. Autobots did not wish death on each other.

Swallowing and trying to forget the desperation in both Jazz and Sideswipe’s expression this morning, Trailbreaker turned his attention back to the horizon and felt his hydraulics wheeze. There was dust being thrown up in the horizon. His hydraulics went still and his comm. link roared to life, Prowl’s voice echoing in his audios.

“Prowl here, Is there something wrong, Trailbreaker?”

“Maybe. There is someone coming from the South East. I don’t believe there is supposed to be anyone coming back from search and rescue duty in the desert, but with all that dust, I believe that’s where they are coming from,” said Trailbreaker. He didn’t think it was a ‘Con, far too straightforward, but whoever it was wasn’t supposed to be here. Bad news all around.

Or maybe it was good. The glint of yellow was hard not to recognize nor the speed that was being used. Trailbreaker sighed, feeling an ease overcoming him. Sunstreaker was safe.

Opening his comm. link, Trailbreaker stated hurriedly, “Prowl. I think it’s Sunstreaker.”

There was a moment of silence on the other line and then in the cool voice that only Prowl could pull off, the Second in Command stated, “I’ll be there in a minute, Prowl out.”

Trailbreaker then turned his gaze back to the horizon and almost had to take a step back when he saw how close the Frontliner had gotten. He was less than a quarter of a mile away and still throwing up dust. He was probably thinking that he was going to slide into the base without any confrontation and find a place to wallow in self-pity; not that Trailbreaker blamed him but there were plenty of mechs that wanted to talk to him. Sideswipe was probably the most desperate but not on the top of the food chain. Prowl, Optimus Prime, and Ratchet wanted to talk to him. Apparently, they all had their own agendas from what the green mech overheard. Prowl was going to punish him for insubordination and abandoning his post without proper consent to do so; Optimus Prime wanted to offer him support and probably a reprisal for leaving like he had; and Ratchet was probably going to beat the Lamborghini into slag for transforming with that injured leg and then demand a psych evaluation.

Poor slagger. He didn’t even want to know what was supposed to occur when Sideswipe got his chance to speak. Well, he had a feeling that the next few weeks would not be boring at least.

The green mech shifted his hips slightly when the yellow Lamborghini came to a halt before him, a dust cloud continuing the race that the yellow vehicle had abandoned. The mech was still for a moment and then with almost a painful slowness Sunstreaker transformed,  his arm automatically going to his hip which had tell-tale signs of bleeding all down his thighs … along with something else. What was that…

“What are you staring at?” came a growl from the yellow mech as he glared at the patrol.

Trailbreaker wasn’t the type to return hostility so he asked in a worried tone, looking at all the dents and scratches all over the mech’s form, “You… were you attacked to. Are you okay, Sunstreaker? Let me call Ratchet. He finished Jazz a little while ago.”

The mech’s eyes went wide and his thoughts immediately returned to the fluid between his thighs. Trailbreaker might not have notice the slight glint of something other than energon since the dark was dragging itself over the horizon, but in a fully lit room Ratchet would notice it. He couldn’t really tell the medic that he had voluntarily slept with Megatron and expect to still be an Autobot in the morning. He also was too proud to say he was raped. He didn’t need pity for something that had never occurred though the soreness of his valve was telling him that he probably could pull off an incorrect account like rape off easily.

Stiffening in the shoulders, the yellow soldier’s mind quickly calculated how far he was from the showers. He could probably get there before Ratchet could meet him in the halls. If he left right now…

“Sunstreaker, report.”

The yellow mech was thrust from his thoughts as if a violent wind had just pushed him off the side of a cliff, cackling. He met the cold calculating gaze of the resident tactician. Slag. Resisting the urge to punch the white and black mech in the face, the frontliner merely stated, “Report what? Why I left without getting proper authority or why I look like slag? I’m sure you know the answer to the former and the later can wait until after I take a shower.”

Prowl’s optics kept their same emotionless demur but Sunstreaker couldn’t help but notice the slight twitch of the higher ranking officer’s wing struts.

“I have a theory as to why you went A.W.O.L, but I need to have you say so, so that I can decide a proper punishment. And, given the looks of you, you probably met the same situation that Jazz did.”

Sunstreaker shifted nervously. He needed to go and clean himself, hide this pleasurable-shame, but he could tell that Prowl was going to drag this out and then Ratchet would see and inquire and then Optimus would as well. He had to think of an excuse.

“Are you listening?”

The yellow hellion was pulled from his inner musing and couldn’t help but give the stiff-shoulder superior a surprised look. He hadn’t been listening, he had been so focused on his escape that he couldn’t. The glare from Prowl told him all he needed to know… and that the commanding officer was disgusted by his presence.

Everyone would have that expression from now on, wouldn’t they? Don’t get to close to the reject, don’t touch the reject, he might rub off on you. Rage that hadn’t been there mere second’s ago rose like a sleeping storm off the oceans belly, and the yellow hellion found himself striking out, pushing away a suddenly shocked looking tactician.

“Theory, huh? You just wanted to hear it from my own mouth, didn’t you? You wanted to hear about how I was the freakin’ the second born, the unwanted one? Get the slag out of my way you hypocrite.”

With that, the yellow monster gave a shove, pushing Prowl to a wall and storming off, his destination already decided and a new question in his head. Had Prowl really seemed disgusted and cold at him more than usual or had Sunstreaker’s paranoia just made him into that? Not that he was going to dwell on it. Thinking about it too much would only hurt because if he was wrong… he was acting the part of a reject: paranoid and emotionally unbalanced.

Prowl watched Sunstreaker turn the corner, leaving drops of energon behind in his rush to move that damaged leg. Recalling the thought of Ratchet’s want for a psych evaluation, the tactician turned his comm. link on.

“Prime, it was Sunstreaker, and I think its best that we wait to talk to him. Ratchet’s worries may hold a lot more weight than ours. We should let him have first action,” said Prowl, his face showing signs of emotion, one that he himself hated giving: pity.

…

“What is this! This isn’t even the right tire size for your alt form. What happened to _your_ tire,” all but screamed Ratchet as he continued to roam all over the front-liner’s body with his sensors and gaze.

Sunstreaker tried not to twitch away from that look and tried to keep his cold disposition. He had barely been in the shower for five minutes, washing away fluids but unable to remove his cod piece because he had “bubble-buddies” as Bumblebee had once called it. He didn’t care if they were minding their own business; he hated it when he ran into other mechs in the wash racks. The only being he liked washing with was … no … had been Sideswipe. It seemed he’d have to find a new way to get to the hard to reach spots. Either way, he never even got far enough to worry about that impossible to reach plating because Ratchet all but dragged him away, leaving the water running.

“It was all I could get a hold of in the bloody desert,” stated the yellow mech as he felt Ratchet lay hands on his leg. His groin automatically gave a twitch, thinking for a moment that the touch was that of his lover.

The medic didn’t seem to notice Sunstreaker’s reaction. Instead, he immediately cursed at the state of the appendage and stomped to a nearby supply closet, First Aid stepping out of the way of the enraged healer, giving Sunstreaker a frightful look before heading over to Jazz’s berth side.

Jazz looked terrible by the way. Not that Sunstreaker was complaining. If the friendly saboteur was still awake, he’d be doing nothing by annoying the injured mech. Jazz just had this sixth sense about who needed company and no matter if they were glaring or silent as the dead, he would be offering music and chit-chat. That was probably why he was friends with Prowl. The mech never complained but he probably didn’t have many close friends either. Great … he had just become Jazz’s newest “pity” target, hadn’t he?

Groaning to himself, Sunstreaker paid little mind to the sound of metal objects being violently thrown out of the room and just as the frontliner turned his head to see what was being taken out of the room, he saw a flash of grey and then the tool slammed right into his head. Sunstreaker was knocked out before his optics even went offline.

Ratchet, a moment later, came out of the room carrying a sheet of metal or two along with a collection of tubing and laser scalpels. He laid them on the neighboring berth and started to grumble, “First Aid, get over here; I need to rip most of the leg apart. Bloody fragger messed himself up.”

First Aid stood there a moment, a little petrified of his own master, given the rage he was in. Sometimes, he would never admit it, but he was scared of his creator. Swallowing down any trembling that wished to crawl into his throat, “What’s the metal for then if we are stripping the leg and not rebuilding it?”

“To weld him to the berth! That’s what!” all but yelled the older medic.

XXX

A grunt filled the room followed by the roar of an engine and an angry curse. Ratchet had threatened time and time again, but he had never expected the healer to do it. He had never thought Ratchet would weld him to the berth.

Cursing up a storm, Sunstreaker started to erratically pull at the restraints on his wrists. He quickly tired though and gave up which was strange for him, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised … he was still banged up, his leg partially done and none of his other injuries really taken care of. Not that he was complaining. The moment he was fully repaired, everyone would be down his neck, demanding one thing or the other from him. He could deal with most of them with a silent glare or violent stomping as he left the room, but not Sideswipe. There was this jolt in his spark, a heaviness. He couldn’t face him but he didn’t think he had a choice.

He could feel Sideswipe… right outside the doors… and Sideswipe felt him.

Sunstreaker, suddenly feeling like caged animal, started thrashing violently, engine screeching at the sudden stress. He could not face him, would not! He didn’t care if he had to request a transfer. He was not talking to that false-brother. He would not allow that slagger to lie to him again. He could not take his brother’s false sympathy.

“Quit pulling on those,” finally came a growl as none other than Ratchet came out from his office across the medical bay floor. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave the golden warrior a warning look. “You are not going anywhere. Not only do I have to finish your repairs which will take forever, mind you, due to all the sand you got into your internals, but you and I need to have a little talk.”

He had an idea of what Ratchet meant by “little talk”. It meant a physiological evaluation followed by multiple weeklong counseling sessions until Sunstreaker broke down and cried or made some kind of revelation about himself and his problems. He had no problems! His only problem was Sideswipe who was going to come in here and …

Beating, like a wild thunderstorm over the plains, suddenly fell over the medical bay, stirring Ratchet to look at the door. Sunstreaker merely stilled, his voice coming out as something other than an animalistic growl, “Please don’t…”

Ratchet must have not been paying attention or just didn’t care because he growled something around the lines of “better be bleeding to death” and then walked to the door. He stuck his hand on the door pad lock and the door opened with a swish. He felt Sideswipe crawling at the bond before he heard the medic’s engine growl.

“Sunstreaker isn’t awake yet,” a lie from Ratchet, now that was surprising. “I’ll comm. you when you can come and visit.”

“Don’t lie to me!” all but screamed the red being in the hall, Sunstreaker going still and wondering if he could play it off as if he were still asleep. He knew it wouldn’t work though, Sideswipe was pressing to roughly into the bond, to the point of pain almost.

Ratchet took a step back, perhaps in fear or surprise. Sideswipe never yelled like that. Sunstreaker knew he did from time to time, but never his brother. It was abnormal and haunting.

Then, probably before the medic could regain his composure, a blur of red raged past Ratchet, pushing over the healer, Sideswipe coming in Sunstreaker’s direction. Sunstreaker tightened as he watched his brother’s raged expression become a pained one, and he all but stumbled to Sunstreaker’s berth side, his hand panicking as it clumsily tried to grasp his brother’s hand.

Sunstreaker balked slightly, unable to get away from his brother’s touch … his touch was like fire, his bond being slammed with thousands of words and emotions, all demanding entrance. The yellow mech actually had to ground his dentals and hold back a groan of pain from the intensity of it.

“Sunny, are you alright? I couldn’t feel you, I still can’t! Open up, please! I’m sorry, please let me in,” Sideswipe was near hysteria, if a mech could drop tears that would probably be what he was doing.

Ratchet slowly picked himself up, staring at the whole thing with wide optics. Sideswipe was all but clawing at his brother … demanding access to their bond. Now, that didn’t sound good. Twin bonds were very delicate at times because it was a lifeline for the two beings involved. Even if the two of them would go out and find different bond mates, the bonds would still be strong. It wouldn’t be considered strange for the two to bond and interface still from time to time even if they had mates.

To close off Sideswipe entirely… that was strange and dangerous for twins, especially since only Sideswipe had a mate to balance his bond. Sunstreaker knew he could die especially since he was so “insecure” about obtaining his own mate.  Yes, Ratchet knew all the details. They surprised him mostly because it offered a revelation about Sunstreaker and his sexual insecurities which was odd for a mech that made sure he was always beautiful.

Then again, that was probably why he beautiful. He didn’t know how else to acquire love thus making himself seem entirely vain. Sunstreaker had never been in love… except with his brother. A brother that had betrayed him.

Sunstreaker was in emotional turmoil right now and needed time to sort through it. Sideswipe was only making this situation worse, which was probably even hurting the yellow warrior right now since Sideswipe was probably trying to force through the bond. He would not allow anyone to harm his patient further.

Ratchet clicked on his comm. his tone growling, “Prowl, Ironhide, Red Alert! Get to the medical bay now! Sideswipe is hurting one of my patients!”

“Comin’ Ratch!”

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

“C-coming! I’m bringing backup to!”

Ratchet grunted and turned back to the brothers. His eyes going wide at what happened next … maybe welding someone to the berth wasn’t a very wise idea.

“Let me in! Say something! Look at me!” yelled Sideswipe, his grip growing painful.

Sunstreaker winced, his pain rolling over him in waves. He never wanted to talk to that false-brother again! Dragging in a pained breath he finally turned toward the red demon, “Let go! Don’t play this act of false empathy! You are not sorry! You lied to me and then betrayed me! You’ve made me a freak amongst the entire base! Get out! Get out! You are no brother of mine! Get out!”

Sunstreaker found himself pulling at his restraints so roughly he was starting to draw blood, a scream of pain echoing from his vocals as he tried to get away from his false-brother’s touch!

“Stop touching me!”

Sideswipe was shocked and actually took a step back in horror, his optics shivering in setting. Sunstreaker had never acted this way towards him. Not even when the two of them had gotten into spats. His brother was in a lot of pain, emotionally. Sideswipe knew he had been ignoring his brother due to his relationship with Bluestreak. Had he been so preoccupied that he didn’t notice how much his brother needed him? W-was that what really instigated the fight in the rec. room? Had Sunstreaker needed him so badly?

He loved his brother, was near hysteria when Jazz came back half dead. He had thought Sunstreaker was dead, the whiplash of a broken bond soon to be ricocheting back into him. It never came and it made him realize something… he loved his brother but at the same time he had to let him go.

Except he couldn’t do that until he knew his brother would be okay and he couldn’t fix anything if he didn’t know what was wrong.

Unless this was truly about Bluestreak. He couldn’t leave Bluestreak either. He knew ... no, he was, in love. He had to make Sunstreaker see this love, this want. He had to make his brother understand! He’d force it on him if he had to. He would not abandon his brother. After all, he was technically the dominate brother of the two twins.

Sunstreaker would let him in.

“Let me in, Sunny,” said the twin in a dark whisper.

Sunstreaker’s rage seemed drowned. W-what? Hadn’t his brother heard a word of what he had just said? His lip twitched in agitation, “No.”

Sideswipe, who had been looking at the floor, suddenly was looking deeply into his Sunny’s optics, boring into him. The yellow brother barely had time to compute what happened afterwards, rage and demand slamming into the wall between their bond as Sideswipe suddenly jumped upon the berth straddled him like they were going to have a Sunday-fuck.

There was no lust or want there though as his Sideswipe opened his own chassis, bathing Sunny in the red twin’s spark-light. The stillness was echoing as the realization hit the rejected brother: Sideswipe wanted to bond, to share, to strengthen their bond. He wanted to know all Sunstreaker had to offer.

No… that was what Sunny had wanted days ago, but not anymore.

“G-get off me!” Sunstreaker choked as Sideswipe suddenly started to paw at the yellow chassis to get it open, his fingers having memorized Sunny’s chassis long ago. His brother was going to forcefully press himself into him and push _his_ emotions onto Sunny.

What about his own emotions? What about his wants?

Ratchet stared in horror. It was as if he was watching the first stages of rape like a spectator. He knew twin bonds were unique and sometimes they forced feelings on each other but this … this was going too far. Luckily, it seemed the stupor that was consuming Ratchet who was friend to the two feuding brothers could not rule over his medic’s programming. So when Sunstreaker cried in horror and pain, Sideswipe ripping open his brother’s chassis with far too much force, Ratchet started forward like a single knight to take on a fuming, red, dragon. With a stiff arm, the healer forcefully grabbed Sideswipe by the elbow and with a great grunt flung the imposing force to the floor.

Sideswipe, a frontliner for a reason, was to his feet as soon as his body stopped sliding on the metallic tiling. He then, with a bar fight exactness, did a right upper-cut punch to the face of the healer, the jaw hinge cracking and the medic falling against the bottom of Sunstreaker’s berth with a resounding clang.

He sat there for a moment, disoriented, his hand reaching up towards his head. Sideswipe just glared at him before taking a step towards his brother once more. No step followed after though. Not rape. No screaming. No connecting threads of light as the two bonded. There was just the phantom click of the butt of a gun being slammed between the elder frontliner’s shoulders. Ironhide’s lip twitched as Sideswipe fell to the floor, the old mech standing like a marble statue over the silent field of a graveyard, the click of three other sets of heavy feet following after: the only sound amongst the silent dead.

Prowl, Red Alert, and Inferno came up behind Ironhide, looking over the scene to try and distinguish what had happened. He came into the room just in time to see Ratchet rip Sideswipe off his brother. What ensued before that was beyond him but Ratchet looked terrible and that was answer enough

“You okay, Ratch’?” said Ironhide as he reached down and grabbed Sideswipe from underneath the armpit, hoisting him up like a rag doll, Inferno grabbing the other side of the downed frontliner.

Ratchet rubbed his jaw with aching slowness, wincing when he noticed just how damaged it was. He looked up at the old soldier and nodded, stating in a somber tone, “Just get him the slag out of here and into a cell. I’ll tell you what happened as soon as I take care of Sunstreaker.

Ironhide frowned even more, wondering what had happened until he looked upward slightly, finally noticing that Sunstreaker’s chassis was open and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. The yellow twin seemed terribly upset, upset in such a way that Ironhide had never seenand it bothered him deeply.

Nodding and turning away, if only to spare Sunstreaker some pride, he started towards the brig with the false-brother. He had an idea of what had happened yet at the same time he had an idea but couldn’t believe it. Sideswipe was supposed to be the emotional one and Sunstreaker the violent one like two sides of a soul. There was so much more to them and he had a feeling he’d be seeing just how separate the two were from now on.

With a calming touch, Ratchet ran a hand down Sunstreaker’s arm, trying to calm him. He gave a soft smile and slowly closed the sunshine colored mech’s chassis. He then, immediately, started to remove the welded restraints, whispering that everything was going to be fine; there was no need to afraid and that it wouldn’t happen again.

Sunstreaker’s engine just continued to whine and cry though as he watched his brother being dragged away by Ironhide, Red Alert, and Inferno, Prowl giving Ratchet a worried look before he followed after. Slowly, as Prowl looked from Ratchet down to Sunny, the young mech turned his head away in shame. A realization had hit him… even if he had wanted to make up with his brother, he could never bond with him again –forcefully or not- because then Sideswipe would see… Sideswipe would see his longing… his longing for a monster with red optics and large hands.

Megatron.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the drama. If you think Sunstreaker is having it bad now, wait a little longer. Then the angst really will set it. I’m an evil, evil, narrator.


	5. Bleeding

Sunny could only stare at the ceiling as he onlined. He didn’t recall going into recharge, but given his shaken disposition last night, Ratchet probably gave him a sedative which would explain why his leg now seemed completely repaired. He cursed the medic. With the pain of his leg gone, his mind was now reflecting on what had happened with sickening scrutiny. His mind kept replaying it, wondering if there was a way for him to still share his spark with his brother and hide what had happened with Megatron. He knew there wasn’t but his mind kept poking at reality with its dull stick, his fingers full of slivers yet reality showed not even a single blemish in its perfect bubble.

He dulled his optics, his hand coming to lie on his abdomen. His valve gave a throb… he was wet down there and not from arousal. He hadn’t had a chance to look at it given the obvious circumstances but a part of him knew that the wetness wasn’t due to sexual want but from sexual hurt, during the night of passion his valve had surely ripped. He had barely noticed once the larger mech had started to slam into him with repeatedly like waves into a shore, but now he realized that Megatron had been too big and now he was suffering the consequences. He was bleeding down there and could only thank Primus that he had put a rag down there under his cod piece before arriving at the Autobot base, knowing all too well that fluids would be dripping out of his valve.

Well, he was dripping but not what he expected. Swallowing, Sunstreaker tried to focus his gaze anywhere but at his cob piece because the medic just noticed he was awake and he didn’t need the medic there right now. Though, with ripped valves, one was supposed to go to a medic immediately. 

“Sunstreaker,” said Ratchet in a soft voice as he drew in close to Sunny, placing a hand on the mech’s shoulder. “You are awake. Are you feeling better?”

The golden warrior frowned, not liking the soft smile on Ratchet’s face. The healer was being too terribly kind… Ugh, he could taste the pity like a sour rottenness in his mouth. The slagger was trying to make up for nearly getting his patient raped as well as trying to treat Sunny for some nonexistent “trauma” he had received when Sideswipe tried to press himself onto him. Pressing away his disgust, the front-liner stated, “I see you finished my leg while I was out so I should be fine. Can I leave now?!”

Ratchet frowned at the bitterness escaping the twin’s vocals. Usually, he’d slap the mouthy mech across the helm to get him or her to show some respect, but then again the flavor of rage could be Sunny’s way of covering up his feelings. Mentally adding that probable conclusion to Sunstreaker’s file, he continued, “Yes… and no. After hearing about the situation with Sideswipe, Prime gave me exclusive rights to remove you from active duty until I have given you a satisfactory bill of health. In this case: mental health. He doesn’t need you snapping on the battlefield.”

With a grown of his engine, Sunstreaker was sitting up, his lip twitching as he growled, “I don’t need a physiological exam! Red Alert walks around here all day and isn’t removed from active duty whenever he had one of his freak outs! So why should I have to!”

“Calm down, Sunstreaker,” added Ratchet in a cool tone, his optics becoming bright. “I will have Ironhide restrain you if you try to leave. You will be talking to me if you want to or not. I know what’s best for you so lay the frag down, recharge a little more, and I’ll talk to you later. If you need anything, ask First Aid or Swoop.”

The yellow mech’s optics became really bright as he turned and noticed that there were four other mechs in the room … listening to their conversation. Ironhide had First Aid hovering over him, looking at what looked like a damaged optic, fluids dripping down his cheek; Inferno’s windshield was cracked and one of the wing-like appendages near his head was all but ripped off. He gave Sunstreaker a forlorn smile before turning back to Swoop who was fingering the windshield, picking out small pieces of glass that fell to the floor with a small tinkering noise.

Sunny swallowed, part of his mind putting two and two together, “What happened?”

“Your slaggen brother, that’s what,” growled the medic as he placed a tool or two into his sub-space compartment. “He woke up and nearly ripped the cell door off so Ironhide and Inferno tried to subdue him. If you think they look bad, you should see your brother… Prime got to him and after hearing that he…”

Ratchet went silent at this when he noticed that Sunny was digging his fingers into the berth, his engine wheezing. He swallowed his words, patting the mech on the shoulder as he stated, “Well, I better go look at him. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Ratchet then left, grumbling something about a toaster.

Sunstreaker, not knowing what else to do, sat there on the berth, staring at the door. He felt raw, sick inside. His valve hurt, Ironhide and Inferno were throwing him odd glances from time to time, and he could feel Sideswipe just pressing into the spark-bond despite Sunstreaker’s block.

He needed to get away and be alone, somewhere far from peering eyes. He could feel it creeping up on him… it had been doing so since he had woken up. He hadn’t been allowed to suffer the after effects of what his brother had done, what had happened with Megatron, his brother’s abandonment, and the exposure of his second-born shame. He needed time to himself… he needed some time to weep over his sorrows.

He would never cry in the presence of others.

Choking on a sob that threatened to escape his vents, Sunstreaker dragged and covered his optics with his hand as he sat on the edge of his berth, not wanting the others to see the shivering of his optics. Cybertronians did not shed tears the way humans did but they did have their own breed of crying: engines would hiccup and skip, their fans would choke, bodies would slightly tremble, the spark would shiver, and the optics would shudder on and off involuntarily. All the other symptoms varied, but the shivering of the optics always occurred.

He was already thought of as weak due to Sideswipe’s outburst… he didn’t need another reason to be considered weak. He would not give them another reason. Rising to his feet and trying to control the fading composure of his vents as much as possible, Sunstreaker headed for the doors of the medical bay, his optics directed anywhere but towards the other residences. He didn’t care if Ratchet went rampant when he came back to find Sunny gone, he just needed to get out of here.

He knew it was coming, but it still made him stall, “Sunstreaker,” it was First Aid, “is something wrong? If you need something, I will get it. Just lie down like Ratchet asked.”

It took a lot of self control not to choke as he spoke, “I’m going to my room… if Ratchet wants to talk to me he can talk to me there.”

Ironhide’s voice cracked as he shouted, “Now don’t you start given us trouble like your brother! Get back in that berth younglin’ before I drag you.”

Sunstreaker stiffened in the shoulders, hearing the old mech call him youngling stirring rage into his being; it was worse than being called a virgin because it subtly suggested that he was even too young to have intercourse. He turned, caring little if they’d all see his grief, as he yelled, “I am not a youngling that needs to be babied and pitied like Bumblebee! I’m fraggen leaving! The fricken virgin reject will be leaving your presence now.”

Ironhide was drawn back by the comment and merely moved his lips as if trying to think of anything to say, but, before he could even think of anything, the door slid shut, the sunshine colored mech gone.

XXX

 Sunstreaker could only sit on his berth, legs dangling like vines from a tree. The room was dark, welcoming all shadows and ghosts to further the flavor of his sorrow. This was all Bluestreak’s fault. The slaggen little gunner had to have shook his aft in just the right way or given that naive smile of innocence at the exact moment to make Sideswipe see him as something other than a youngling, something that could be fragged. He looked down at his hands, looking at the scratched paint. He could see the grey smudges on it, but if anyone saw it they probably didn’t even think of Megatron, that these hands had caressed and pleasured Megatron… like some kind of cheep pleasure-bot.

His tanks churned, and Sunstreaker put a hand on either side of him to grip his berth as he leaned his head forward, opening his mouth. It was a dry, sickening cough, a little bit of spittle the only thing dripping down to the floor. He remained that way though, his abdomen bowing to his legs and he coughed again, memories flashing like a thousand turning signals at night on the highway.

_Pulling away from the hand that had revealed his prize to him, the old warrior’s fingers suddenly dipped into the port which was surrounded by a collection of sensitive wires. Sunstreaker, below him, bared his dental plating, offlining his optics as he thrusted upward into Megatron’s hand…_

Aft shifting with the ghostly feel of Megatron’s fingers, Sunny tried to chase away the sickness that was growing. H-how could he have…

_Megatron started to rub his hard wire over the open port, letting the other’s interface unit turn and lock downwards so they could enter each other. Sunstreaker, in return, started to rub against Megatron’s leaking port and cone, feeling Megatron’s own coolant start to escape his port._

Sunstreaker groaned, more spittle dripping down the side of his mouth and to the floor. H-how could he have let the other enter him like that. Frag, he was even wet like a little desperate first-time-interfacing femme.

_Megatron started to rub his hard wire over the open port, letting the other’s interface unit turn and lock downwards so they could enter each other. Sunstreaker, in return, started to rub against Megatron’s leaking port and cone, feeling Megatron’s own coolant start to escape his port._

He had even locked his spike down like an in-heat dog.

_Megatron merely grunted in satisfaction and took that as a surrendering action and started to thrust into the other’s systems a little more violently, getting the sound of catching vents with every thrust inward._

He had just laid there and took it, his first fragging time alone he had acted like a helpless femme with her legs wide open. His lovers with Sideswipe never were the dominate partner. Not once. And here he gave it all away. He gave away the most sacred thing of all transformers like it was nothing, his spark. He polluted his spark.

_Opening his chest, Megatron revealed his almost silver colored spark and watched as Sunstreaker’s optics stared at it with fascination. There was no hesitation after that._

The choking finally gave way to something real and it all came out, the polluted taste of regret. He regurgitated what energon Ratchet had forced in his systems, the stuff splattering all over the floor. Sunny’s form shook as he stared at the slightly digest and glowing energon on the floor. It reminded him slightly of the nanite-charged come that his port had hungrily swallowed up when Megatron released into his port; the come that was still whisking around in his reproductive chamber like a nauseating reminder.

His systems regurgitated again at the thought and continued to do so, fans nearly overheating until all Sunny could do was choke on his shaking breath as he stared at the growing mess on the floor. He-he was nothing but a wet little whore that had given up his brother for a night of pleasure and release. His legs shifted at the thought… a little horrified that he was still wet. Looking at the floor, Sunstreaker reached for his cod piece. The floor was already wet so he just as well clean his port up… and empty his reproductive chamber.

Jumping to the floor, Sunstreaker stepped over the mess on the floor and went to a collection of drawers on the wall. His fingers automatically stilled just as he was about to grab the handle… this was technically his brother’s drawer; Sideswipe would always clean both of their interfacing equipment afterwards, not wanting any corrosion or to catch slag from Ratchet for blocked or sore interfacing equipment.

 Swallowing, his fingers pulled open the drawer without another moment of hesitation and he pulled out some cleaning rags, a suction-cup looking tool that had a clear tube at the end, and a gentle solvent. He moved back to his berth and slowly opened his legs; there was a click as he opened his cod piece. His lip twitched in disgust as he looked at the liquids that had dried on the back of the piece and the wet rag within. His optics dulled as he slowly whispered for the lights to turn on. His fingers twitched as the light revealed the energon.

He was bleeding.

The mech took in a deep breath, his fans humming. Slowly, he leaned back and stared down. More energon. Slag… the warlord had been big and it also explained the ache he had been feeling. Licking his lips, Sunstreaker readied himself; slowly, he pressed his fingers into his valve to assess the damage. Touching the raw, healing, sides nearly made him gasp but instead he gritted his dental plating, optics shivering. Slag… it was nasty. He really should go see Ratchet for this; an interface injury was not something to mess around with but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Removing his finger, he looked at the thickened energon with its mix of Megatron’s fluids. His lip twitched and he quickly grabbed a clean rag and some solvent. He wetted it and slowly started wiping, cringing as he started pushing it up into his valve. He wiped around, pushing up and down as if slow-fucking a tampon and only pulled it out when he felt his fingers starting to get wet.

Two rags later, his valve was aching but at least he felt “clean”. Well, as clean as he was ever going to get and now he was going to try and drain himself. Usually, mech would just leave a rag under their cod piece and allow their body to absorb the soft metals offered by the nanites and drain the rest naturally as a slow drip.

He didn’t want to absorb anything from Megatron and forever have a piece of the fragger inside him. He wouldn’t allow it. Taking up the suction tool, Sunstreaker took a breath. He usually didn’t bother since Sideswipe was the only one ever allowed to come in him, and he was pristine; if his rag even started to feel damp it gave him a reason to take a shower. That was probably the only reason he let Sideswipe be dominate from time to time: it gave him a reason to be conceited and continue his vein beauty. Yet, here he was covered in come, digested energon, blood, and smudges from Megatron.

He should be in a scalding shower right now… but what was the point of a clean outward appearance if he was filthy inside. He eyed the suction cup, rubbing his thumb over it as if wetting it and then he lifted his leg up a little more and slowly slid it in. The tool was low tech and slightly barbaric –using air-pressure and gravity to pull the liquid out- but it was effective. It was essentially like siphoning gas.

He allowed the tube to hang and then started to press on the suction cup, his sore valve stinging. Slowly, the think grayish-blue nanite-come started to dribble down the tube, joining the regurgitated mess on the floor. Yet, it just dribbled. He had felt the amount of warmth that had spilled into him from Megatron. Growling, he started pumping harder. His valve was burning now and droplets of energon-blood were clinging to his fingers. It had to come out. He needed to...

Knock. Knock.

Sunstreaker halted, his optics going bright white. The first thought that hit Sunny’s mind was not that Ratchet probably had decided to hunt him down or Prowl or Optimus wanted to talk to him. Sideswipe wasn’t even a worry because, for one, he wouldn’t have knocked. What worried him was if someone had heard the squelching noises that came from his current actions, the removal of his new shame.

All but tripping over himself, foot sliding in the fluids in the floor, Sunstreaker tripped to the door and quickly pressed the button by the door’s controls that locked it. He heard someone shift outside and a muffled voice came through.

“Sunstreaker? You there? It not Sideswipe. Please, open door or I use medic codes to open it.”

Swallowing, the yellow twin looked at the mess on the floor. H-he didn’t need anyone in here. Quickly grabbing the rags, he threw them on the floor and started mopping up the mess, his hands shaking as he rushed, a second knocking making him jump and throw the rags under the nearby berth. He stumbled to his feet, grabbing his cod piece and sliding it on just as the door slid open, light washing down on him like a spotlight. Sunstreaker swallowed as a shadow was quickly thrown over him, a dark outline watching him with blue optics; in the doorway stood Swoop with a scrutinizing gaze.

Sunstreaker’s optics glowed a little brighter, his hands finding themselves hidden behind his back because he knew they were still filthy. Trying to push down any signs of weakness, the mech spoke in a slightly soft-bitter tone, hoping to scare off the flying rat, “If you are just going to stand there and gawk, do so in the rec. room like everyone else will be for the next few weeks.”

The large mech stood there a moment, observing the mech with his shivering frame, weak legs, and stained fingers. He smelled partially digested energon as well… had Sunstreaker been sick? Ratchet had told him, early on when showing the flier where the buckets were, that sometimes when mechs got upset enough, their tanks would release its contents to try and force its owner into a low energy state to calm the mech down or to force them to go into recharge due to low energy reserves. Removing his clawed hand from the door controls, Swoop stated, “Why’d you leave so sad? It is not bad thing to be untouched through interfacing. Me and the rest of the Dinobots have not had any sexual nestmates.”

The yellow twin’s engine growled, embarrassment rising at being compared to the Dinobots, and he found his voice rising as he all but yelled, “I am not sad and I am not an untouched virgin! It’s just that I’ve never needed anyone but Sideswipe and,” Sunstreaker’s voice suddenly broke at the realization, “and he’s no longer here.”

Swoop tilted his head slightly, reviewing the frontliner’s words over. Then, as if thinking he’s ask an older mech about it because he didn’t quite understand, Swoop suddenly grabbed Sunstreaker by the wrist and started dragging him forward, “No time to be sad. Best to be sad in front of Ratchet so he can fix it.”

“What!” choked Sunstreaker as he was unceremoniously grabbed; the large mech dragging him away from his door. “Let me go, slagger! I don’t need Ratchet in my head!! Let go before I slaggen beat you!”

\---

“So,” said Ratchet, his brow arching as he sat behind his desk in a more comfortable manner, putting his tablet on the table so Sunstreaker wouldn’t feel like everything he said was being documented. Though Sunny knew that everything was being recorder by Ratchet’s memory files, talk about a false sense of security. “You know why you are here, in my office, right?”

Sunstreaker shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his mind heading straight to his cod piece… he hadn’t got to put a rag under his crotch plating for dripping. He just knew when he stood up it was going to drip down his leg and probably onto Ratchet’s chair as well. He looked back up from his thighs and up at Ratchet. The medic didn’t look pissed or anything of the nature. He was calm and desolate of any emotions. He was just listening… and staring. He would not stop staring until Sunstreaker spoke and he knew it.

“Yes… you think the slaggen reject didn’t get the parts he needed in the CPU,” growled Sunny, his gaze falling to his hands. He had managed to grab a rag off a counter as he was dragged into Ratchet’s office, but there were still reminders of the filth that had been there moment ago.

A deep sigh escaped the medic. They had a lot to go over and there was no way this was going to get over in one session. He would like to start off with talking about what happened in the medical bay but Sunstreaker was already upset, Swoop sending him a private com. stating that he was sure that Sunstreaker had been sick in his room. Troubling to say the least, but at least his systems had a natural reaction. It also meant that Sunny would be too weak to want to strike out in rage.

“Don’t worry, Sunstreaker. Primus shorted the both of you on CPU components… slaggen idiots the two of you,” he grumbled, trying to lighten the mood. When nothing but a frown came from the personal jargon, he continued in a profession tone, “So Sunny… I know you’ve had some trying circumstances lately… especially between you and your brother, and with what happened yesterday…”

Sunstreaker just glared at him, Ratchet just continued.

“Specifically, I’m worried about what happened yesterday,” continued Ratchet. “And I’m worried about… trauma. Sunstreaker, tell me how you felt about it? Anything’s fine, but I need you to talk about it.”

Sunstreaker just continued to glare, his disagreement with the situation obvious.

“Sunstreaker… I cannot clear you for duty until we’ve talked about this,” said Ratchet as he became stern. “Now, last night, I want you to tell me how you saw it. Where you scared? Upset? Or…”

“I wasn’t scared!” finally growled Sunstreaker, his pride resting on the surface like a leaf that had just fallen on the lake’s waters. “Why should I have been? He was my brother! We’ve shared sparks thousands of times. We’ve have played rough.”

Ratchet was still, going over the words silently before he asked, with clear proficiency, “Then why did you just say he “was you brother” and not “is your brother”? I see that you have disjointed yourself from Sideswipe proving that you’ve most likely been hurt by the situation in some way?”

Sunny’s optics went white and his hands grasped the rag tightly at the realization. Had he given up his brother for one night or pleasure?

And so the sentence was allowed to hang in the air, Ratchet clearly able to tell that Sunny was thinking… the answer truly terrible to Sunstreaker with the way his fans were wheezing and his optics pure-white. He didn’t care how long he had Sunny had to sit here in the silence, allowing the usually closed mind to bud outward for the world to see.

Yet, just as Sunny started to open his mouth, words soon to be escaping, an alarm went off: the Decepticons. Sunstreaker felt a rise of dread and excitement at the thought of battle. Not because he’d get to fight and rip and bleed, drowning any feelings that Ratchet had tried to rouse, but because Megatron was there. Megatron had taken away his purity as well as his brother. It was probably even a lie that the warlord wanted him again. He was going to confront that bastard.

Without even thinking it over, Sunny rose and started running towards the door, his port wet and dripping. He needed something to push away the pain. He needed pain.  

Ratchet rose in a hurry, his vocals growling, “Where are you going! Sunstreaker, you’re off-duty! Come back here!”

The golden warrior did not stall, of course, not even when Swoop tried to grab him. He was out the door and caught in the small crowd that was running down the hall. Ratchet sighed, saving the short meeting in Sunstreaker’s medical files. He better head out as well, if only to make sure the slaggen idiot didn’t get himself killed. Walking past his desk though, Ratchet couldn’t help but stall… on the chair where Sunny had been sitting were a few droplets of what appeared to be energon. He would have stopped and elaborated but the battle had started and things like stains could wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the angst… how it feeds me and my dark author powers. Ummm. Anyway, a little smut, anyone? Well, too bad, you’ll have to wait. Also, this would have come out sooner, but I decided I hated the first section and rewrote it.


	6. Momentary Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mature scene in this chapter of a sexual nature.

 

His luck was absolutely terrible.

Though, he had actually managed to get the whole way to the battle field, to rage, to rip and to hate all he wanted. He didn’t want to talk about his emotions, his suffering, and his faults. He wanted to be strong. Not weak and helpless… the second born. Too bad, just as he was about to rush forward and meet the line of Decepticon’s with a square punch to the face, a white arm lashed out and the next thing he knew he was pulled behind the main line by a very angry Prowl.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the tactician in his usual professional tone, though Sunny could tell that the cruiser was eyeing every visible inch of Sunstreaker. Probably seeing if he was injured. It was undoubtedly a widespread rumor by now that Sunstreaker was confined to Ratchet’s care… and that he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this battlefield.

“To fight,” added Sunstreaker quickly not wanting to blurt out the truth, blood and pleasure. “I’m an Autobot!”

“An off duty Autobot who was left to Ratchet’s care,” added Prowl as he quickly looked over the battlefield, searching for said medic. “Which means you are not supposed to be here. I’d discipline you for insubordination but that’s not my choice right now, its Ratchet’s.”

Sunstreaker felt his rage rise and pulled his arm away. He was about to yell at the tactician about minding his own business when a well-aimed shot hit the ground a yard or two from their location, Prowl and him were separated by a spray of dirt. Noticing an advantage when he saw one, Sunny didn’t remain to help Prowl to his feet or whine about his paint getting dirty. He just wanted … relief. Instead, he ran into the fray kick a Decepticon in the chest, Prowl yelling behind him through the smoke and dust.

“Sunstreaker!”

Sunny knew he’d pay for this; the tactician was already pissed about when he slammed him into the wall, but he’d suffer the consequences later. He had just spotted what he wanted across the battlefield…

…

Sunstreaker’s spark lurched and his tanks turned, his optics desperately searching the landscape for an opening so he could get to his pain medication: Megatron. He knew it was wrong, his Autobot programming was screaming he should be doing anything else but this. He should be taking down a flier, relieve his superior –Prowl- of his worry and do as he was told, shoot some poor slagger in the aft, but no… he knew he was not going to fight today or listen to a superior. He was in pain and he needed to get away.

Finally spotting an opening, Sunstreaker got to his feet and started to run towards the Deception’s side and up the hill where Megatron was located. He knew this was stupid, that any minute now Prime would probably be up the hill as well, challenging the warlord to a one on one scrimmage.

He ran through the fray of bullets and gunfire nonetheless. He was running for peace, for release, though it didn’t seem as such to the ones around him. As far as everyone else was concerned, Sunstreaker was running for cover from the Seekers’ barrage on the battlefield. Some, such as First Aid, Prowl, or Ratchet, would think that he was running from them. In truth, they probably were all correct in way or the other, but in Sunny’s mind he only had one objective: a release from pain.

Megatron.

He knew that he was ripped up slightly in his port and that he should be thinking about anything but trying to get behind the main line and locate the cause of his injury, but suffering and pain were not, in fact, the same thing. The thought of Sideswipe’s new lover, of his near rape by his own brother, the revelation to the whole base that he was the second born, his breakdown in the medical bay, and the mental examination; it was easy to say that he as suffering. Megatron was pain. Pain wasn’t always a bad thing. It reminded you that you were alive.

And Megatron was the first one to make him feel alive in a long time.

There was just war, rage, and his brother. He had never had such a release, a completeness. When his spark grasped Megatron, he felt something new; something he thought only belonged to his brother. He liked it. It felt familiar, and he was claimed all at the same time as if he now was a possession, wanted. He needed to feel that rush so he could keep it deep inside and maybe, maybe, he could use it to get through his torture that was his false brother.

Stalling halfway up the huge incline of grass which belonged to the dam, vents heaving, he smiled. Not a hungry or lusty grin, but one of relief like he was meeting an old lover who held continued affections, the one that had gotten away.

There he was, Megatron, standing on top of the hill near the dam’s main control room, the humans since retreated and the energon being cubed a few yards away. The warlord was watching over them like a hawk and was probably waiting to do his usual tango with Prime. 

Yet, despite the promise release, Sunstreaker’s hand became a fist. The slagger was now inside him, soiling him as he absorbed the other mech’s nanites, defiling his title of Autobot, the cause of banishment of his brother’s bond, so why would he want more inside him? Perhaps it was just a physical need of his spark, the want to stabilize… Yes, that was it, and something to dull the burn of hate and pain inside him. He’d frag the warlord here on the battlefield if he had to. He just needed five minutes. Just five minutes and perhaps he could live the next few days pain free, absent.

Feet suddenly feeling heavy, he struggled to place one in front of the other. He was going to climb up the remainder of this incline and tell the slagger he didn’t care if everyone on this battlefield though he was being raped. He needed relief. He needed it now.

He barely even got to the top of the hill thought when he found himself having a gun pressed into his back, his intake freezing in shock.

He offline his optics and cursed himself with every human curse word he could think of. He had been so one-minded he forgot the most important thing about Megatron: he was surrounded by Decepticons. Slowly onlining his optics, he turned his head slightly to see a flash of blue. He should have known. Where ever Megatron was, Soundwave was never far behind.

“Diagnosis: badly planned assassination plan,” stated the mech as he pressed the gun roughly into Sunny’s back. The Communications Specialist knew that Megatron enjoyed the interface he had gotten from this particular Autobot the other day, but today wasn’t in some no-man’s desert, it was on the battle field. On the battlefield there were no lovers, only soldiers and Sunstreaker was still an Autobot.

Sunny raised his hands, trying to be docile though he had a gun to his back. It took a lot of self-control not to yell out profanities, instead stating, “I just want to talk to Megatron before Optimus gets up here.”

Opening up his telepathic connection towards the ‘Bot to see the truth, he immediately recoiled. Sunstreaker’s mind was in complete shambles when it came to emotions. Emotions were hard for the ‘Con and that was one reason he hated his ability of being an telepath; he just didn’t understand emotions. There was want there, no doubt about that, but also hate and rage and regret. It was hard to say which emotions would be enacted at his glorious leader, but it was easy to tell that all that energy was directed at the gun-former.

Soundwave knew he had to be careful about this, but neither would he deny Megatron the sight of his little, interface model. Sunstreaker was the only reason they were attacking the dam as a full force today and winning. Megatron had a clarity and a drive he hadn’t had in months… a pompous pride was helping him win this battle. Maybe his lord should get laid more often.

Pressing the buttons on his chest he stated, “Ravage, Rumble, Frenzy: release.”

Immediately, all the cassettes popped out of the tape-rack’s chest and transformed, landing with gapping expressions that soon became snide smiles. The twins automatically laughed, and quickly both ran up and kicked Sunny in the shin, earning a growl from the Autobot but nothing more.

“Wo, boss-bot. You caught one of the front-liners. You want us to watch you offline him?” snicker Rumble as he eyed the hellion. He was going to enjoy this.

“Negative,” stated the blue mech as he pressed the gun deeper into Sunny’s back, forcing him to walk the last few yards towards the warlord that had yet to notice what was happening behind him. “You are backup. It will be Megatron’s decision.”

“You going to let him execute the mean slagger in front of the other Auto-dorks?” added Frenzy. “Great idea, boss bot. Let’s watch the Auto-slag cry!”

Soundwave, noticing the waves of hate radiating off the sun-colored mech, said nothing. It was a short walk to Megatron but he didn’t need the front-liner turning on him. Sunstreaker was renowned for a reason: he was mean.

Strangely, the ‘Con didn’t get to see that renowned truth with the few minutes it took to get the slagger up to Megatron. His voice, emotionless as possible, called out his leader’s title, “Lord Megatron: Autobot apprehended trying to sneak up behind you. Directives as to what to do with Autobot?”

The warlord turned with a cold glare, his red orbs making Sunstreaker’s spark skip. In lust or fear, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. The cold gaze quickly turned into a surprised one, even a hurt one.

“Ah… Sunstreaker,” stated Megatron, his feet heavy as he walked over the hostage. “Not the Autobot I was expecting. I certainly wanted to see you again… but not like this. It seems that our night in the desert was a onetime thing, yes?”

Sunstreaker, not knowing how else to convince the warlord that he had, indeed, come to be conquered, pulled an arm free from the blue mech and immediately ran said hand over the larger mech’s groin.

Soundwave immediately let go of the golden warrior, his mind suddenly getting why Sunny wanted Megatron. It sure the pit wasn’t so he could shoot the Decepticon; he wanted _angry_ interfacing.

Ravage, meanwhile, choked and the two twins gasped, echoing everyone else’s thoughts, “He just molested Megatron!”

Then there was silence amongst the cassettes, looks of horror covering their faces, Ravage even going so far as to cover his face with a paw. This is why they needed to be an escort, to witness something none of them should ever see? Megatron, for Primus sake, already had a lecherous grin on his face, grabbed the sun-colored warrior by the arm. He slammed the smaller mech against his chassis, growled, and stated in a lustrous voice, “I know I said I wanted to do this again with you… but right now really isn’t the time.”

Sunstreaker paid his growl no mind, his hand already trying to reach between the war lord’s legs and release the latches to the cod piece. His voice breathy and desperate as he stated, “I want it now! I don’t care if everyone on this field sees and thinks you’re raping me. I … want … you … to… take … me!”

He made his want even more evident when he started grinding against the other, groaning into the titan’s audio. It was so raunchy that Soundwave actually seemed embarrassed, grabbing his two youngest cassettes and pushing them towards the hill, telling them to go to the battlefield. Ravage also turned, ready to leave as well, face flush with energon, but Megatron’s raspy voice caused them all to stall.

“S-stop,” he could barely get out, his systems already turned on by Sunstreaker’s desperation.

Did he need to be saved from this sex fiend?

“I-I need a look out. Prime’s bound to be n-nearby. I-I’m going over to the building, o-out of sight,” choked Megatron, his cod piece falling into the grass and hungry fingers dipping into the revealed equipment, the fingers quickly finding the port and nearly making the gun-former fall to his knees.

Ravage whined and turned his back, Soundwave coughed, saluting, and turning his back as well, thoughts jumbled. He didn’t know that Megatron liked it in the port or even liked a lover touching his port. He was certain, in fact, that his lord didn’t like anyone touching his port. That was why Megatron usually only got femmes for lovers… they normally didn’t stick anything in his port.

Port tightening around the pumping fingers and lips greedily grabbed his own, stifling any moans, Megatron recognized that Sunstreaker wanted him here, right now. As much as he’d love to have a gapping audience, he didn’t need Prime rushing up the hill and ruining all of this. Also, he was sure that he had better be getting the upper hand to his before he ended up being on the bottom, his port being slammed into.

He was never the recessive one in interfacing.

Grabbing Sunstreaker’s arms so harshly, the yellow mech pulled away with a hiss. Megatron quickly forced the yellow mech towards the building, slamming him up against the back of one of the stone walls. Sunstreaker grunted, growling as his paint was scrapped.

“Don’t scratch the paint,” whined Sunstreaker as Megatron started to suck on a neck cable, hands fumbling for the latches to his claim. The cod piece fell into the grass below and fingers soon were fondling Sunstreaker. The yellow warrior didn’t even put up a fight, making himself the recessive as his cord slid below. He wanted Megatron’s port so badly, but he also wanted to be protected, held. He wanted to have his port belong to another lover besides Sideswipe.

“Playing rough… demands some sacrifices,” grunted Megatron as he started to get down on his knees, ready to use his tongue. Maybe he’d even give the spike some attention. Sunstreaker was wet, but it felt… thin.

Tightening, not wanting the pleasure to end if Megatron was put off by the thought of his partner being ripped and bleeding, grabbed Megatron by his neck and raised him up trailing kisses all the way from the top of his helm to his chest. He then raised his head back up, stating, “We don’t want Prime interrupting. Hurry up and fill me.”

Megatron raised a brow, optics going dim. He was great with his tongue and it was obvious that Sunstreaker needed this attention right more than he did. Usually, he wouldn’t care about an Autobot’s feelings but given last night when they were together and the sun colored mech’s desperation today, it was obvious that he was getting a repeated lover.

He didn’t want it to be bad for Sunstreaker. He had meant what he said, he was good to his lovers, and he did recall that Sunstreaker had probably bled according to their size difference last time. Chuckling, he sank back down, purring, “I don’t want you to be dry. Just relax. I’m sure Soundwave has his cassettes annoying Prime as we speak.”

…

Elsewhere…

“Time to dance, Prime,” cackled Rumble, Optimus struggling to keep his balance along with a nearby Inferno.

Frenzy wince, grabbing onto his twin’s waist to keep his balance, “Why do we hav’ to take on the Prime? Meg’s should be down here; not up there doing… _stuff_.”

The two twins wince at the thought, not innocent but still young enough that they thought it disgusting. They didn’t really want to know who their boss’s boss was fragging.

Rumble nodded, stating, “Yea’ bro, which is why I’d rather take on the Prime. It keeps me from thinking about … _stuff_.”

…

Sunny was about to protest more when suddenly he felt hot breath on his lions. He then felt the soft-metallic steel of lips kissing him around his entrance nearly make his knees fall out. He even felt Megatron flick his tongue a few times, tasting his port and even being kind enough to kiss his spike tenderly. He had wanted this to be rough and hard, but this was … nice.

Until Megatron drew away, looking up at him.

“The bleeding is more than I expected. Perhaps we can _play_ another time, my little Autobot? I don’t wish to rip you up anymore,” stated the warlord, optic turning to the side for a moment as a loud explosion echoed over the field. He was even about to rise and check on the battle.

Sunstreaker caught the scent of abandonment and desperately clawed at his lover’s shoulders, pushing the warlord down. He knew it was a dumb action, especially when the mech growled at him, but his voice was frantic despite himself, “Please… don’t leave me too. I thought you wanted me.”

The titan stalled, shocked. His young Autobot didn’t want to merely fuck… he needed to feel wanted, to be fulfilled. Megatron was not the kindest mech but he considered himself a kind lover. He liked the young mech, like his tightness, like his rage and lust, and enjoyed his spark. The Autobots didn’t know what they had… and they might not know much longer. It seemed that night together had affected the younger mech more than Megatron thought. After all, Sunstreaker was coming to him for comfort.

… He generally didn’t recruit his men by seducing them, but if he did get Sunstreaker to convert to the right side, it didn’t mean the youth had to be a soldier. Warlords were allowed concubines.

Smiling at the thought of always having a warm berth and something to stick his girth into whenever he was in the mood, he smiled lustily and lowered himself once more, huskily stating, “Of course I want you, young lover. Just tell me if it hurts. I told you once: I don’t hurt my lovers… unnecessarily.”

Sunstreaker actually gasped as a wet glossa entered his port and started doing godly things.

In, out.

In, out.

Around the port and a soft suck.

In, out.

In, out.

Megatron hadn’t even been down there a minute when Sunstreaker’s knees gave out, and he started to slide down the wall, whimpering when the gun-former pulled out from the crook between his legs.

“You taste wonderful. I don’t mind a little blood… it just allows me to taste you in more ways than one. Now, put your knees over my shoulders and … enjoy,” stated the gray mech as he placed hands underneath Sunstreaker’s aft to stop him from sliding all the way to the ground. He then tugged behind one knee, forcing Sunny to slowly position himself so all his weight was on his back against the wall and on Megatron’s shoulders.

Giving Sunstreaker one more wicked smile, he dived in and Sunstreaker howled as if he had been shot. Soundwave actually ran around the building’s corner only to have his visor go bright and stiffly walk away. Megatron pulled away and bared his teeth, taking one hand off Sunstreaker’s aft and growling, “Suck… we don’t need Prime hearing you.”

Sunny whimpered but quickly took some of the fingers into his mouth, sucking violently in tune with the tongue’s prying. Megatron purred at the enthusiastic response and went back down, tongue flicking in and out of the port once more, silkily penetrating the port and pulling away to run his tongue over the top of the spike making Sunstreaker howl once more, but at least it was muffled this time.

A few more yowls and Megatron gave one more arousing suck over the port before he pulled away, shifting Sunstreaker so that his legs were now removed from Megatron’s shoulders and placed on the gray mech’s hips as he rose to a standing position.

He gave a wicked grin and whispered, “You’re nice and wet now. Hold on for the ride.”

He didn’t even give Sunny time to speak when he pressed his mouth over the other and started to twist his tongue into the yellow mech’s mouth making his gasping sound muffled. A deadened yowl was followed after as Megatron started to slide in, not forcing it. It took a little longer than last time, dragging it out, and Sunstreaker certainly was not helping as he tried to make the penetration hard, especially when they started to position just right for Sunstreaker to enter him.

The warlord barked at that, when Sunny finally entered him, glad for the lip lock as his port greedily started sucking on the offered cord. He even started to moan. Once they were both acceptably penetrated, Megatron had to let the kiss break, panting into the other’s neck.

Sunstreaker actually had to chuckle, whispering, “Maybe next time you let me be on top.”

Megatron growled into his throat and then, to make his point, he pulled out partially and slammed back in, making Sunstreaker gasp. After that, Sunny allowed the warlord to set the pace. It wasn’t as violent as the last time, but the more heated the interfacing got, the more it seem that the warlord was fucking him in tune to the sound of explosions around them.

Despite the pings of pain from time to time when Megatron would re-enter, the pleasure was winning out, and Sunstreaker soon found himself holding on tight for the ride and trying his hardest not to yell out in pleasure though he was sure the battle field would drown out his cries. Nonetheless, he was finally able to speak.

“Fill all of me… p-please,” whimpered Sunny, his spark oddly demanding it as he drew closer and closer to a sweet release from his emotions, from his pains, from his brother, from everything.

Another grunt escaped the larger mech as he continued to pump as fast as this position he was in would allow, growled, “As satisfying as that sound my little fuck-toy, hh-has no one ever told you that gun-n-fire and b-bared sparks don’t mix?”

Sunny meowed as the warlord slammed a little harder into him, the pace picking up as well, antagonizing at his already torn valve. He could feel the blood dripping down his leg now, but he wouldn’t tell Megatron to stop no matter how ripped up he was becoming inside. If having a ripped up valve was the price to pay for a freed mind and a satisfied spark than that was what he would take. Pulling his legs up in silence acceptance of Megatron’s decision, Sunstreaker allowed Megatron to now completely support him by holding his aft and slamming his back against the wall; he’d just hold on for the reminder of the interfacing as well as give his spike some wet flavor because the position allowed him deeper access to the warlord’s port.

Megatron’s port gave a hungry, satisfied, throb as the younger mech got deeper into him, and he felt his knees nearly give out in pleasure. It surprised him for a second, his port suddenly feeling far more wonderful than his spike and its wet housing. He never allowed another mech to enter him and certainly, rarely, ever took pleasure from masturbating with his port. His spike was the thing that enabled his sexuality, yet he now found himself pumping at a different angle so that Sunstreaker’s rod was now slamming into him deeply. Unable to stop himself, Megatron yelped and buried his head in the crevasse between Sunny’s neck and shoulder in a slight shame, the next few pumps slow and deliberate as his allowed his valve’s wall to measure and taste the wonderfully hot, nicely sized, and pulsing spike inside him. Maybe next time he’d allow the younger mech to fuck him so he could have a little more of this rod. The younger mech had offered.

Not that his pride would every really allow that.

“Y-you like my rod, don’t you? Is it nice and b-big for you,” whined Sunny as the pace continued at the slow tasting level, Megatron gasping every time the rod went deeply inside. “You want it to spill side you, don’t you?”

Another moan.

“T-then fuck me so I’ll spill into you. P-pick up the pace. I don’t care i-if I bleed,” said Sunny in a husky voice, his body screaming for the pleasure-pain that would steal all emotion away and kill them temporally in one huge wave of emotion.

Megatron didn’t deny him, slamming down with such a harshness on the Autobot’s spike that it felt more like he was impaling his port and not fucking with it. Not that he really gave a slag because a second later his port overloaded, making him tightened, fingers digging into Sunny’s aft. Sunstreaker, feeling Megatron’s port overload due to his finger fucking earlier probably, didn’t want to be denied overload like he had been denied that wonderful grey spark, so he started to pump downward for the orgasm overcome lord, putting weight into his valve. His body reacted quickly and soon both his port and spike released in the rising tension, taking Megatron’s spike with him.

Sunny, immediately, choked a cry that echoed over the whole battlefield, “M-Megatron!”

Megatron, as his port gave out its last few spasms of his orgasm, moaned and gave a breathy whisper, “Sunstreaker.”

And, with that word, Sunstreaker was hooked. It was purely a sexual relationship, but it was his relationship, and Megatron was _his_. Sideswipe could go frag himself. Though, given that fact that he directly disobeyed, to shorten the rising list, everyone, it might be a while until he’d get to have his large warlord again. That thought it mind, he buried his head in the other’s neck as Megatron slowly sank to his knees, Sunstreaker’s back losing paint to the wall. They merely sat there a few moments, throbbing around each other’s cones until a blue burr appeared at their side.

Megatron looked up with blurred optics, slurring, “What is it Soundwave?”

His words were simple yet caused Megatron to pull away from his lover, “Optimus Prime is coming.”

Sunstreaker whimpered as Megatron pulled out of him, sighing slightly at the bloody energon that pooled from between Sunstreaker’s legs. Maybe if the next time was soon, he would allow Sunstreaker to just enter him. Yes, he’d laid back and just moan as the young mech overloaded him.

Maybe… but right now, taking the cod piece offered to him by Soundwave, Megatron grabbed a rag from his sub-space and placed it down for his port before clicking the cod piece over it. He then offered the pleasure overloaded mech one peck on the forehead as he rose. He warmed up his cannon and stated firmly, “Clean him up slightly, Soundwave, and make sure no other ‘Cons get to him.”

Sunny started to overcome his fuzzy feeling and slowly turned his head, hoarsely whispering, “W-wait. When will I see you again?”

Megatron turned and grinned, “The next battle, probably.”

Sunny wanted to say more but he became distracted as Soundwave spread his legs, trying to see what was going on. Sunny was about to rebut, and close his legs, when he felt a cool rag suddenly placed on his valve, pressing in slightly. Sunstreaker jumped, thinking the mech was going to finger fuck him with a dry rag, but no further movement came except that Soundwave took the rag away momentarily to do a brief –and embarrassing- scan. Ugh, Sunny couldn’t even recall the last time Ratchet had scanned down there, and he was his medic.

“Diagnosis: port damaged. Recommending valve repair by profession to strive off…”

The mech didn’t even get to finish his statement when a semi came rushing up the hill, nearly running Megatron down like a deer on the road. The slagger managed to jump out of the way just in time though, semi wheels spitting up mud. Soundwave, wanting to help his lord, quickly wiped Sunny’s thighs despite the patients complaint, and stuffing said rag as extra padding for the cod piece, clicking it shut. He barely even had time to stand up when he let out a huff, Brawn coming out of nowhere and tackling him.

Sunny quickly stood up, wanting to get away from the crime scene, realizing how bad this looked with the small pool of blood. He wasn’t even allowed a small dash when he legs gave out due to the ache in his port and a weakness in his loins, and he found himself falling down backwards towards the hill.

This was going to hurt.

He didn’t even get down the hill though when a red hand lashed out, pulling him down into almost a protective ball as gunshots rained where he had just been standing on top of the hill, the cassettes growling and Megatron raging. Sunstreaker, so caught in the moment, was about to strike out and kill the slagger who had touched him until he turned around and saw two blue optics looking at him.

Angry, blue optics.

“Ratchet?” croaked Sunstreaker in worry. Had Soundwave cleaned him up well enough?

“Idiot, fraggen slagger!” growled the medic as he kept low and tried to drag his patient with him. “Not only did you run off, you tried to take on Megatron! We heard your scream halfway across the battlefield!”

Prowl, who had Cliffjumper at his bumper, slid to a stop and quickly assisted the medic in dragging Sunstreaker away from the pending battle between Optimus Prime and Megatron, Cliffjumper pulling out a gun and taking up the rear.

Sunstreaker blushed, feeling like an idiot. That wasn’t a pained cry, but it certainly was a loud one. He quickly tried to rise to his feet and walk of his own free will, but Ratchet soon stalled behind the cover of a heavy wall. Prowl immediately nodded to the medic, offering a glare at Sunstreaker as he watched Ratchet scan the mech before going to assist Brawn.

Ratchet waved him off as Cliffjumper kneeled down nearby to protect the patient and the team’s medic, grumbling, “Your systems are stressed, hotter than slag they are. I’d be surprised if you haven’t melted something! Your back is in shambles though not bleeding and there are also a multitude of other scratches, though none of them seem extensive. It also seems your legs have regained motor functions since your initial fall. The Slag Maker might have been shaken some loose from a harsh throw or punch. Slaggen idiot! Just wait until we get back to the base!”

Nonetheless, there was a bang as Ratchet hit him with a wrench.

“What was that for?” Sunstreaker yelled, grabbing his helm.

“For being stupid enough to think you could take on Megatron! If you think a wrench was horrible, just wait until Optimus gets to talk to you. You know he doesn’t like anyone confronting Megatron in melee combat. The slagger’s huge!”

Sunstreaker continued to rub his head, not liking the look cliffjumper was giving him as he whispered, “You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that last line has a double meaning. XD And don’t get to use to smut in every other chapter, dearies. You know I’m an angst girl and lots of loving doesn’t usually equal angst. Though, enjoy this chapter nonetheless. I had time to update because I actually had time off. :P


	7. Wanting a Lover

 

It has been a few days –a human week or more- after the battle with Megatron. Well, it was a battle for the rest of the men; it was a sweet release to Sunstreaker. He couldn’t stop thinking of that choking lust filled whimper of his name when Megatron’s port came, Sunny’s seed spilling into him. The thought that the he had overloaded the warlord even while being on the recessive end was so fulfilling it was as if his spark suddenly dropped ten pounds, his very reproductive chamber shivering with pleasure as he was filled with Megatron’s magnificent fluids. He didn’t bother even trying to drain them this time… not that he could, his port was so sore it actually ached and…

Ratchet was watching him like a hawk, seeing if he’d even twitch in agony or break down into a collection of woe. Well, he might want to whimper about his sore port but so far he wasn’t going anywhere near his emotional messes. At least not for a while, and at least Ratchet was better than Prowl or Prime. He just knew they were both dogging for him when he got out of Ratchet’s detention. His audios would never stop ringing… especially Prime. The leader was actually mad (good natured Prime, can you believe that) at Sunstreaker for allegedly, not that anyway really saw him fighting the Con, for taking on Megatron.

“That berth still isn’t clean,” stated Ratchet as he walked by with a digi-pad, not even looking up from the item as he headed over to Ironhide’s berth, interrupting Sunny’s thoughts.

Sunstreaker growled in reply, feeling some of his normal rage rise to the surface as he threw the rag onto the berth and growled at the mech, “It is slaggen clean! I would know! I shine myself every single day so I think I know how to slaggen wax metal! I’ve waxed every fraggen berth in here and surface for the last slaggen week except the ones with bodies on them!”

Ratchet, who had continued to walk over the gun-ho idiot, didn’t even stall as he helped the red mech sit up. He even started looking over the Weapon Specialist’s welding before he even bothered to reply.

“And once those berths are _empty_ you’ll wax them as well. This is your _punishment_ for going onto the battle field when you weren’t _cleared_ to do so, and since I haven’t had time to give you that _psyche_ evaluation due to all the injuries during the battle, you’re staying in here until I _clear_ you,” grumbled the mech enunciating every few words. “Besides, your brother is getting out of the brig today. Since he hasn’t been assigned a babysitter yet, and because you are still under my care, you are stuck in the medical bay.”

The good feeling… was gone.

Sunstreaker had actually managed to wipe away all thoughts of his brother, replacing the slagger’s warm red hands with Megatron’s and brother’s warm spark… with Megatron’s powerful one. He knew it wouldn’t last. He knew even when he was fragging Megs on that hill that the world would come crashing down sooner or later. It just felt much better when he forgot that fact.

“A-are you sure?”

Ratchet stilled suddenly, a worried look coming over his face, and he was about to come over and probably ask if Sunstreaker wanted to talk about it. Sunny straitened his shoulders and pressed away his look of worry with his usually stoic frown.

“W-hat I mean is, that if he’s getting out today, I need to get some stuff out of my… his room,” added the yellow mech quickly and far more confidently. He had left that mess of pumped transfluid on the floor from Megatron. He needed to clean that up and get some things. His wax, his paints, and any proof that he had even been in there.

Ratchet was still frowning but clicked his com link. His optics brightened as he got ahold of undoubtedly Prowl and stated, “Perhaps, Sideswipe won’t be out for a while and you are looking at little… faded. You might want to get some of your paint wax.”

Sunny glared at the medic’s horrible try at humor, a growling coming from his engine.

Coughing off the glare he got from the younger mech at the paint crack, Ratchet turned to look at Ironhide who seemed ready to get up and run if the medic left. Suspiciously eyeing Ironhide, the medic then turned to look at Sunstreaker who was acting… twitchy. Well, he still hadn’t had a report that Sideswipe had gotten out of the brig so he figured Sunstreaker could be allowed to rush to his room and get some supplies. He had been watching him like a hawk for days now. Letting out a grunt through his vents, Ratchet waved him off, stating, “It’s not Sideswipe room anymore, but he will need to get his stuff. You have half an hour to grab whatever you want. If you are not back by then, I will send Prime himself to fetch you.”

Sunstreaker stood there a moment and blinked his optics on and then off, almost not believing his luck. Then, forgetting his sore port, turned rather harshly and was about to start running when he hissed.

The welding behind him stopped almost immediately, and Ratchet looked up, growling, “Was that your leg? I noticed that you have been a little stiff, but I just thought it was the new parts. It should have healed by now.”

Ratchet turned from his patient and gave Sunstreaker the optic as he asked, “Is it just the new parts or are you really in pain?”

Sunstreaker squirmed, his hand reflexively placing itself over his cod piece. In truth, his leg still ached a little from the new parts but not enough to make him limp. His port hurt like slag. Megatron had really made him bleed like a little virgin; that second fragging hurt his insides. He knew at this point he should really ask Ratchet to look at it and sooth away the soreness and possible energon infection… but he found he liked the soreness late at night. Each throb of slight pain that came from the slowly healing hole reminded him of Megatron and his pumping spike inside him. On more than one night, he found himself pumping his hips along with that throb, his mind recalling those times of passion. He knew it was wrong, even sick, to think of Megatron in such a way, but he was reminded daily that no one was there.

No one wanted him. No one but Megatron.

“It’s nothing. The new parts ache a little at night but it doesn’t hurt. I just don’t want to rip it up again so I allowed my knee to go out,” replied Sunstreaker, not knowing what else to say.

Ratchet shifted and looked the mech up and down before nodding his head and waving the mech off, stating, “Well, if it still hurts in a few days, I’m going to look at my work. Damage might have been sustained on the battlefield. Now, get moving… you’re down to twenty-seven minutes.”

Sunstreaker’s optics went wide for a moment and he found himself turning to the door at a jogging pace, minding his port. Maybe while he was in his room, cleaning up that mess, he would take a look at his interfacing equipment and give it a decent cleaning.

…

 

It was dark in here.

It was as if the night had been forsaken by everything that offered light… even the fireflies. He was forced to stay still in that forever darkness, waiting for the sunlight that may never come. He could not move until then. There were gaping holes all around him waiting to devour him with one false step. He had nearly fallen in already, allowing his spark to be eaten and turned like a Decepticons.

He had nearly raped Sunny.

The red form twitched at the thought in the dark, hand reaching up and placing it on his chassis. He tried not to wince as he felt the scratched paint. He had gone stark raving mad when he had been woke up after being taken away from Sunstreaker. He had thrashed at the mechs, his companions, trying to get back into the medical bay and finish what he started. He was going to make his brother hear him. Sunstreaker was being selfish. He always got Sideswipe’s attention and the moment he wanted to give some of that attention to another, Sunstreaker acted like he was the one that was wronged.

Well…

Yes, the second born comment was harsh… but he did regret it and had tried to apologize. He was even going to show his shame for the comment when they bonded. He was going to reveal and say so many things that words could not. He needed to bond with his brother.

He had just gone the wrong way about doing it.

Sideswipe knew he had to be calm now. He had all but attacked Prime when the big mech had tried to subdue him after he tried to rip Inferno and Ironhide apart. His commander was not the least bit amused, especially when he heard about what Sideswipe had nearly done to his own twin. The leader had been a vents breath away from sending Sideswipe away to the far reaches of space to some unknown base with some no-name Autobots.

Basically a prison sentence.

Sideswipe had been spared though, from a simple confession. While Prime stood over him, outside the bars, demanding the reason for his actions as Ratchet patched up his scrapes and scratches, Sideswipe had broken down into a fit of sobbing. He admitted that he was scared… he couldn’t feel Sunstreaker and went about it in all the wrong way. Twins needed each other to remain alive and unless Prime himself was going to lay down with his brother, they needed to bond to stabilize each other.

Prime had sighed and asked Ratchet it if was true. The medic had snarled, slammed a wrench over Side’s helm, cursed him for being right, and stated in a cold tone, “Twins shouldn’t be separated no matter the circumstances… especially if one of them doesn’t have a partner of some kind… and if the conversation I heard about happening in the rec. room is true...”

Sideswipe was about to thank him for agreeing that Sunstreaker needed him, but Ratchet’s glare was cruel and truthfully unforgiving.

“But forcing it will only heed the bond. Sunstreaker will become reluctant to even bond with anyone and slowly disintegrate until his spark fades,” added Ratchet with a snarl, his voice getting softer. “We should allow Sunstreaker to decide if and when he wants to bond with Sideswipe. It shouldn’t be forced in any form. If it takes too long and his spark starts to suffer… as a medic I can offer _services_ in spark stabilization.”

The red mech had to ball his hands into fists to stop from punching the medic in the face, his mind imagining the medic between his brother’s legs, spiking him and moaning like a bitch. He held his temper though… he’d win back his brother’s spark or at least find him a suitor that he approved of. He loved Ratchet as anyone can love a medic that threatened their life at least twice a week, but his brother was the dominat kind. Sunstreaker needed a nice mate that would allow him to be on top. He would never to the recessive.

And that was the promise, to himself, that allowed him to sit still on that brig’s berth as Prowl read him the regulations he’d have to follow once he was released.

He could not be on patrol with Sunstreaker.

He could no longer bunk with Sunstreaker.

He could not be in the same room with Sunstreaker, alone.

He could not touch Sunstreaker without permission.

Teletron and high ranking officials all knew these rules and would not hesitate to report him and have his aft removed from base and relocated to another one for an undisclosed amount of time.

Sideswipe had agreed with a broken whisper. It hurt, especially the last one, but he had sat there, optics down cast as he nodded to Prowl’s arrangement. The final question, of course, nearly made Sideswipe weep in front of the stoic tactician.

Prowl continued without missing a note, “I’m not the type to listen to idle rumors, but Bluestreaker and you are in a serious relationship, correct?”

Sideswipe nodded.

“Good, then I suppose we can transfer you into Bluestreaker room and Sunstreaker will most likely be allowed to stay in his room… though he will most likely get a roommate due to space constraints. Hound is the likeliest candidate since he will be losing a room. Is that fine?” asked Prowl, looking up from his data pad as he stood in front of the cell, wings high.

A small whine escaped his vocalizer. The near rape, the confession of birth order, and Sunstreaker’s block had all felt surreal up until this point. Until now. Reality was crashing down and it was harsh. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and wish it away… but he still wanted Blue. With a broken spark, he nodded his head. And with a few signatures, Sideswipe found himself standing and being frowned upon by Jazz. The usual light hearted air was not around the jubilant mech.

He was serious.

 “You cooled down, Sides?” asked the saboteur, his frown deep. “Only the higher ups know what exactly you tried to do to Sunstreaker. The rest of the base thinks you just attacked your brother and that you are not allowed to be alone with him, got me? Truthfully, I think you deserve more of a punishment, but old Ratchet’s explained that twins can become desperate and distressed if the other isn’t around. So, I’ll have an open mind about this arrangement.”

Sideswipe nodded, and stated softly, “So, when can I talk to Sunstreaker?”

Jazz just frowned, visor going dark for a moment, “Whenever Ratchet gives the okay. For now, let’s go to your old room and get some paint and wax … you look terrible. Then we’ll go pack your stuff and then Hound’s things.”

The saboteur’s touch was light on his arm as he led him away, a ghost of a smile appearing. Sideswipe knew that smile was half false, but at least the Jazz-ster was trying. Maybe in a few weeks everything would be back to normal. Sunstreaker would be by his side again and everyone would stop frowning at him.

He wasn’t a slaggen Decepticon.

…

It took him longer to get to his room that what he would have liked, but his pride was an expensive thing. He had to take back ways that Red Alert barely knew in order to ignore running into anyone unsavory. It was worth it though, not a soul had seen him… unless you counted Red Alert. One of the slagger’s cameras probably caught him.

Placing his hand on the door pad, the room slid open. Sunstreaker frowned. He could barely smell the stale and partially digested energon in the room.

His valve gave a throb at the slight smell of nanite… the smell of sex. Turning on the lights, he decided it was best to start by cleaning. Ratchet did state that the room was no longer Sideswipe’s… but it didn’t feel like his anymore either.

Perhaps it was best to leave this place abandoned, like the past it was.

Shaking off such depressing thoughts, he decided he would worry about all his things later and just get what he needed. Wax was a must, maybe a pad-sketcher and some of his favorite digi-pads.

He also needed to care for his valve, it was starting to really hurt. Ratchet had even given notice.

…

Sideswipe held Bluestreak’s hand loosely in his as they both walked down the hall. Blue was uncharacteristically silent, but the young mech was upset. He hadn’t been able to visit his lover since the red mech had been placed into the brig. Side’s hadn’t told him about all that had transpired, but he supposed he would have too soon… not that the youth didn’t know enough already as it was.

“I heard,” stated Blue in a strangely sullen tone. “That you attacked Sunstreaker in the medical bay… Prowl and the other higher officers were really angry about it, especially Ratchet. You and Sunny fight all the time… what did you do?”

There was blame in that tone and guilt. Blue hadn’t wanted anything to happen like this… not over their relationship. He wanted Sunny to be happy as well. He just wanted everyone to have a little love because one never knew how long they had during war.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” replied Sideswipe, full of determination as he looked ahead.

Bluestreak was silent, his frown unfailing, “And how are you going to do that?”

Jazz’s visor flickered as he glanced over his shoulder at the two love birds, his spark throbbing as he heard the eldest twin state, “I don’t know yet.”

…

The mess was cleaned up and a few of his choice items packed away into his subspace. Sunny was looking at his last chore before heading back his prison cell of a medical bay. This was going to slaggen hurt. He hoped it wasn’t too bad.

Placing his cleaning and med kit on his berth, Sunstreaker grunted at the soreness and leapt onto his berth, wincing. His aching port was bothersome. Regardless… just as well as get this done.

First thing, he noticed when he opened his cod piece was that he was bleeding, again! Primus, no amount of lube or licking would have made him not bleed, but still it had been over a week … though Megatron’s size was impressive. Never could he have imagined a mech that would fill him so … completely. And the way Megatron trusted: it was so experienced. And then there were his growling moans as the pace picked up. Oh, how Sunsteaker wished he had been a little larger so he could have thrusted into lover the way Megatron did into him.  

Primus… and Megatron’s port was so wonderfully tight like it was barely used. He wished he could have been the dominant partner so he could have pushed himself into the other all the way up to his hilt and feel the port crush his cone into overloaded oblivion.

Finally noticing that this reminiscing was making his port lube up and spike rise, Sunstreaker decided that since he had to clean down there anyway, he just as well’s get some pleasure out of it. He knew he should be heading back to the harpie but satisfying himself wouldn’t take too long.

True, masturbating wasn’t something he had ever really bothered with since his brother always knew when he was horny and either they would combine their sparks or find some unknowing victim. But, his brother wasn’t here anymore. All he had was himself … and memories of Megatron.

Offlining his optics and lying on his berth, spreading his legs like he had when he had been with the grey lover, Sunstreaker lowered his spike and dipped his hand into his abused port. He cringed at first but kept telling himself that it was Megatron’s spike and soon he found his hips thrusting upward as he started to move his finger in and out. Then, still feeling empty, the mech started to drop fingers into his gapping, wet, hole until nearly all five fingers were fighting to get into his port. Whimpers and gasps were now escaping him as he thrusted upwards into what he believed to be Megatron’s cone.

Soon, his spark was starting to thrash in its casing. It still felt a little odd, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was sore from the treatment in the desert. Not that it mattered, soon he was going to fall into overload bliss and nothing would ache, not even his memories of his brother. Just a little faster, just a little …

“Uh… are we interrupting something?”

Overload was taken from him as well as the ghostly feeling of Megatron’s lips on his. The yellow worrier flew up, his optics wide and surprised as he stared over the edge of his berth. There in the doorway, two pairs of blue optics and a visor shimmered in gloom. Jazz had been the one to speak and was now struggling to hide his Chesimire cat grin.

Slowly, Sideswipe came forward, trying not to get too close because he wasn’t even supposed to be near his brother, Sunstreaker wasn’t even supposed to be in here, but Jazz had allowed him to grab a few things out of the kindness of his spark. He had thought they would merely sneak in and grab some things. That thought was quickly abolished when the door had opened and they all had heard whimpering pains quickly followed by soft groans. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping in regardless of Jazz’s sudden stiffness, part of him wondering if maybe his brother was finally not alone on his berth and had found his own bed companion.

Maybe everything was okay now.

Yet, his mild hope was dashed. It seemed nothing could yet return to normal. In fact, this wasn’t normal when he took in the whole scene. Sunstreaker was actually masturbating and quite wantonly since he had almost all his hand in there and his spike completely sheathed as well. Primus, who was he imagining as a partner?

Somehow finding himself standing over his brother despite Jazz warning, Sideswipe tried to banish any angry feels he had towards his brother and put on a mask, mustering false amusement so it would feel like old times and nothing had changed.

A false Chesimire grin quickly struggled to consume Sideswipe’s face as he walked a little closer towards his brother’s legs to peak in between, not once touching his brother as he watched Jazz watching him out of the corner of his optic. There was coolant everywhere, and he could actually physically see the port still pressing against his brother’s fingers, willing for continuation. The twin couldn’t help but whistled, “Blimy, who the hell you imagining there Sunstreaker? Almost half of your hand is in your port. Primus, I didn’t even know you could stretch the far, but with all that lube I’d want to fuck my fingers too.”

Sunstreaker growled, wondering briefly how his brother had gotten in here but had a feeling it had something to do with the babysister, Jazz. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out, promising he would continue once his brother was gone, and growled, “At least I’m not fucking a sparkling.”

Sideswipe frowned, part of him feeling the rage he had felt in the rec room weeks ago rise once more in his chest and slam through their bond that Sunstreaker had blocked off for the most part. At least with his brother in such a hyped stated he couldn’t block everything and there was this feeling of hurt and passion just barely bleeding through. In fact, now that he was standing next to his brother for the first time in weeks, he also noticed something was off physically and not just emotionally, his brother’s spark reaching out.

The first thing that came to mind was that his brother’s spark was in need of a bonding to help it return to a equilibrium. He had Bluestreak; his brother had no one… that he knew of. Well, Bluestreak and he had discussed this already before the fight, and the youth saw nothing wrong with bonding with his brother.

Too bad he was no longer allowed the right to do such. At least not until Sunny came to him.  

“It wasn’t an insult, Sunstreaker, and please don’t ever talk about Bluestreak that way. He is well of age,” stated Sideswipe as he pushing down any feelings for anger. Getting angry wouldn’t fix anything, and Blue’s feelings… weren’t as damaged as Sunny’s right now.

“You can lie back… if you want. I-I could finish you off,” whispered the older sibling, making sure to ask properly. “I-if you want me to?”

Sunstreaker glared at his other half and stated calmly, “Get out, Sideswipe. Just take whatever you wanted and let me be.”

Sideswipe frowned and almost desperately begged, “Just let me finish you off Sunstreaker, and then we can bond. I’m sure that this whole fit will seem little more …”

“Fit! It’s not a fit! You betrayed me! Stop acting like the victim,“ yelled Sunny as he rose from his berth, slammed his hands against his brother’s chassis, making the red sibling slam into the wall.

Sideswipe made no move to defend himself as Sunny pressed his whole body against his brother and into the wall, a hand around his neck as he ignored Jazz’s pleas to stop this. Sideswipe could care less… at least Sunny was touching him he supposed. It also meant that Jazz would be unlikely to interrupt. He had heard Ratchet speaking with the other high officers. He knew he wasn’t allowed to force himself on Sunny and that if any interfacing or bonding occurred, Sunstreaker had to initiate it.

And Sunny liked it hard…

“Then why does it hurt so much! Do you think that you are the only one who feels betrayed! I wanted to love someone else other than you but that does not mean I do not love you!” Sideswipe cried, his optics shivering as his vocals started to whine. His hands were almost desperate as he reached for his brother, fingers shivering as he touched his brother’s chest and hip.

“Please, let me touch you. Let me show you. It has been weeks since you bonded… please, you’re already wet,” begged Sideswipe as he slowly slid a hand up over to his brother’s neck to cup his chin and gently finger behind his ear fin.

With the sensual touch, Sunstreaker’s valve gave a hungry throb and his spark suddenly seemed to ignite with need. Slag, was he really that desperate for a bond? Was his spark so unstable? True, he hadn’t bonded with anyone since his first time with Megatron but even with just valve interfacing, there would be some residual spark energy that would jump onto the partner. He didn’t know the next time he would see Megatron and… and… slag his spark hurt.

Jazz’s optic band brightened for a moment as he watched not Sideswipe take the initiative but Sunstreaker, the yellow mech roughly slamming his brother against the wall and then pressed a rather violent kiss onto his brother, rubbing his groin against his brother’s cod piece.

Jazz chocked at the scene. Trying not to blush, the sport’s car turned to look at a presently blushing sniper and grabbed the youth by the hand, walking out of the room and telling the youth, “It’s natural for twins, Blue. Just… wait out here.”

Jazz went back to the door, peaking in as he watched Sideswipe started to touch his brother back.. This was going somewhere fast.

Comm. link buzzing to life, Jazz thought it best to talk to the medic first before he rain down any higher command’s fury, ‘Ratchet! Ratchet! Come in. It’s Jazz.’

‘Are you maimed or bleeding? I have other things to do… like finding Sunstreaker. Slagger should have been back minutes ago,’ growled the medic over the comm.

‘Well, I solved that problem then. He’s still in his room… with Sideswipe… and things are getting heavy if you know what I mean,’ added Jazz, lip twitching as he watched Sunny reach a hand down and start to paw at brother’s cod piece.

Man, Sunny was desperate.

‘What! Separate them! Are you just standing there!’ yelled the medic as he suddenly turned heel, sliding and nearly falling on his face as he made for the twin’s old room.

‘Well, maybe if Sides was the one who started it, but he’d be in the brig already if that was the deal. Let’s just say Sunstreaker looks like he is the one that’s about to rape Sides and you can’t rape the willin’,’ added Jazz as he watched Sunny deepen the kiss, Side’s moaning as their glossa started to intertwine.

The medic stalled in the hall in surprise. He hadn’t thought it had been that long for Sunstreaker but maybe it had. His running pace turning into a walking one, and he continued, ‘So, Sunny is the one initiating this?’

‘Well, yeah. This isn’t going to last much longer. Side’s is heading for the treasure trove if you get me? Should I separate them or…’

‘No… let them be though watch them. If Sunstreaker starts say no, separate them otherwise enjoy the show. I think Sunstreaker’s spark needs to be stabilized and that’s why he’s so forward. You are to send Sunstreaker back to the medical bay when they are done though. I have a feeling emotions are still sour and this is being down out of desperation,’ added the medic as he started for his ward.

“I always knew you supported voyeurism, you old pervert. Jazz out,’ stated the saboteur as he turned off the com, peaking into the door only to see that Sideswipe had somehow gotten his brother back on the berth, the yellow twin whimpering below him. Jazz merely waved Blue off to get some after-sex energon and closed the door, taking a seat in the corner to watch.

‘Do you really have to watch?’ asked Sideswipe over the comm. link to Jazz as he started to slide his fingers under armor plating, Sunny bucking up. There was no need for foreplay but Sunstreaker had yet to open his chassis and reveal his spark. Interfacing was fun on its lonesome, but they really needed to bond. Maybe he had to getting a little farther.

Pushing his sibling down against the berth and pinning him, Sunstreaker just stared up at him in lust, his optic nearly offlining as he felt a pair of unpredictable and familiar fingers make their way down to his port. Primus, they certainly knew their way around, making a loop at the opening of his port and slowly easing Sunstreaker’s cone upward in a dominate position with taunting little circles at the rim so they could enter each other.

For a moment, Sunstreaker felt himself completely giving in, circuits buzz with a lazy bliss and part of him wondering if he should open his chassis.

Yet, at the same time when Sideswipe started to thrust his fingers, feeling his own port start to lube at the feel of his brother’s fluids, he noticed the fluids seemed thin. Regardless, Sunny was ready.

Eyeing his brother, he asked, “Can I enter you?”

Panting, Sunstreaker reached up and cupped his brother’s chin and then kissed his twins chin, purring, “I don’t mind having my spike down.”

Sideswipe was a bit surprised, Sunstreaker had rarely asked to be on the bottom, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Kiss far more passionately, he reached down and turned the spike and port so he could be the dominate partner. He slowly eased down into his brother, noticing something was wrong even before his brother hissed in pain. The passion gone as pain flickered across his twin’s features.

Sideswipe found himself pulling out and asking, “What’s wrong? I wasn’t rough.”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” whispered Sunny. Slag, his fingers hadn’t gone in as far as his brother’s spoke had. He was really ripped up, wasn’t he?

Sideswipe paid his brother no mind and quickly slid down on his brother’s legs a little and turned on his headlights so he could see a little better in the gloom of the room. It was then that he noticed that his brother’s port was leaking more than coolant-lube and that Sunstreaker’s port looked raw. Primus, that was bad. If it were him he’d be in with Ratchet, begging for something if his port had been ripped up like that.

“Y-your bleeding? Why haven’t you gone to Ratchet, this is bad Sunny,” replied Sideswipe, barely noting that Jazz had gotten to his feet and now had the same expression of horror.

“You are not my babysitter! Its none of your business. Get off!” growled Sunny as he looked at Jazz’s expression of horror.

Sides did not get off his brother, instead his voice squeak in horror as he asked the first thing that came to mind, “Did you do this to yourself? Why did you do this? I’m helping you to the medical bay. Now where is your cod piece?”

“Get off! You’re not taking me anywhere. I’m no longer your responsibility,” growled Sunstreaker, rage rising to the surface as the lust disappeared.

When the elder sibling didn’t do as asked, he shoved his brother rather violently, Sideswipe giving a choked scream as he fell off his brother’s legs and onto the floor.

Jazz was quick to help the downed sibling and would have reprimand Sunstreaker, but the young mech was already off the berth and wincing. He was heading towards the door, slipping on his cod piece without a rag, energon and valve coolant dripping down his leg. He’d go to the showers and…

Slag.

The door hadn’t even slipped open completely when he notice who was standing there.

Ratchet …

… Who was now speaking with Bluestreak, undoubtedly about twin bonds. The medic stalled long enough to look the yellow mech up and down, before his optics blinked.

It was a comm. link, no doubt from Jazz, who was now stepping behind him. The healer’s optics turned towards Sunstreaker’s cod piece and his tone was surprisingly worried, “Sunstreaker… is that energon?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what Ratchet what think… or discover? XD Sorry for any spelling errors. I might not have the internet for a while and I thought it best to update while I could.


	8. Prying Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-klick: Second ; Klick: Minute ; Groon: Hour ; Joor: Day ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller-Cycle: Year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Sunny swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Hatchet was in the front and the Third in Command behind him. Slag. He could just plow by, but then Sideswipe would freak out.

Slag.

Slag!

SLAG!

Slag it all to the pit.

“Sunstreaker,” added the medic a little more forcefully as he stepped forward and grabbed the front liner by his forearm so there would be no escape. “I asked you a question.”

Swallowing, trying not to sound guilty for he knew he couldn’t outright deny it, “Nothing… just a little rough loving.”

“Rough,” growled the medic, automatically, eyeing Sideswipe who suddenly came into view, putting on his cod piece while limping out into the hall.

Jazz caught the look immediately, “Don’t blame red there. It wasn’t him. Sunstreaker … I think you should go with Ratchet.”

There was no playful tone behind that usually casually-fun saboteur’s voice, Jazz’s shoulders becoming ridged. It was a command.

Sunstreaker threw the visored mech a growl and then added, “Don’t belittle me! If I tell you I’m fine, I’m fraggen fine! Don’t touch me!”

Ratchet, who was touching him, immediately put his hands up noticing that this was going to become violent quickly. “Fine, just calm down. I just want to clean you up. No need for violence. There’s no need to become angry. Just … calm down.”

Sunstreaker wanted to strike out, wanted to throw his fury at the medic who was trying to uncover his secret, but the truth was… he needed to act cool. Panicking would only rile up suspicion, which he might already be too late for with the way Ratchet already had his hands displayed nonthreatening as if he were dealing with a mental case. Regardless, he might be able to clean himself up so that it wouldn’t look so bad. He probably looked like he violated himself with a rusted pipe.

Swallowing, Sunstreaker waved off the demand, “Fine. I need a shower, though. I haven’t cleaned myself very well recently.”

“No,” stated Ratchet, stepping in front of the other mech. He had his serious face on.

The medic knew that was grievous wound. The energon already looked thick, but the glare Sunstreaker was giving him told Ratchet that he had to speak carefully. “… Certain solvents are bad for wounds in such a sensitive area. Let me look at it first. I can clean the wound properly then you can go and wax yourself.”

A look of disbelief covered Sunny’s facial plates. Beside himself, the front liner added in a dangerous tone, “I know proper interfacing care, Ratchet. Just because I’m off duty and in your care, doesn’t mean I’m a slaggen sparkling that doesn’t know how to frag someone.”

His glare hit Sideswipe for a moment, ready to hiss a snide comment about no longer being a virgin to his brother, but then he felt a jaunting pin prick in the back of his neck cables and he turned. Jazz had a needle in hand. Fragger … when had Ratchet even handed that to him? Slag. He should have known better. Turning one’s back on Jazz was like turning your back to a Con… you just didn’t do it.

His body almost immediately went fuzzy and the last thing he heard, as his optics went dark, was Ratchet barking for someone to catch him.

Slaggers… all of them.

…

“So, that was why he was limping,” said Ratchet as he stood over Sunstreaker’s limp, unmoving form which was now on a med bay berth. Sideswipe was on the opposite side holding his brother’s hand while running a soothing hand over his brother’s helm. Ratchet, who had a hand on either of Sunstreaker’s knees, having just spread them for his first peek at the damage, stared at the red twin.

Sideswipe was far too clingy and likely in emotional agony. Ratchet suspected why: Sunstreaker likely was unable to put up bond barriers before he was sedated. So, being so close to each other physically, Sideswipe could probably feel emotions bleeding through the bond.

The utter destruction of his brother’s valve might have been the reason as well. Apparently, the two were about to interface and probably bond when the wound was discovered.  

“It’s an older wound,” stated the healer more for Jazz and Sideswipe than for anyone else. He knew they all suspected that this was Sideswipe’s work and that he had finished what he started a few Earth days ago. Both figures sagged in relief. All guilt being taken off of Sideswipe’s shoulders since he had been far too _detained_ to do such a thing.

Sideswipe was still worried, though, looking far angrier now… like he had let this happen.

“Its nothing to worry about,” continued Ratchet, trying to be reassuring. “It’s fixable. It probably will take me half of the slaggen day, though. Sensitive circuitry means slow work. Regardless, it’s obvious it wasn’t you, Sideswipe. The damage is far too old being that you’ve been in the brig this whole time. So, any guesses who it was?”

“I think he did it to himself,” replied the red mech quickly, his voice forlorn. He could feel it. He could feel the pain and the soft agony as well as the guilt and self-loathing through the bond. True, Sunstreaker had always had these emotions in spades, but never in such magnitude that Side’s could feel them so easily. Where was Sunstreaker’s usual pride? That vain flavor his brother always gave off? There was just need here… need Sideswipe should have been fulfilling right now with a hot spike and a warm spark.

He wished he could bond with him.

Ratchet stalled for a moment, surprised. Sideswipe looked as if he were about to cry. The medic was silent for a moment before looking down at the damage. Sunstreaker was… wet and raw, minor energon lines broken. Ratchet started to correct Sideswipe about his hypothesis but caught himself from correcting the other mech. The present fluids were from right now, but he could tell that no mere masturbation had caused this. Sunstreaker had found a berth buddy. One could tell by the equal strain throughout the metal. A whole hand, despite how painful Ratchet imagined that to be, would not cause this. Another mech had done this… but who would be so violent? He knew there were some mechs that liked it a little rough around the base but to leave such damaged?

He would have a talk with the yellow hellion and whomever he slept with about proper interfacing. It was best not to tell Sideswipe, though. The older sibling would beat the slag out of every mech he ran into until he found out who had maimed his _virginal_ brother in such a way.

“Maybe he did,” said the medic finally, waving his hand to tell the red twin to go. Sideswipe didn’t seem to catch the drift, though, so Ratchet waved his hand again. Sideswipe still didn’t move, so Ratchet huffed, “Get out of here, young spark. I don’t care if you are his brother. Your current disciplines still stand, and I’m sure Sunny doesn’t want his sexual exploits told to everyone.”

“But,” said the red twin desperately, but he knew what Ratchet was insinuating. Ratchet was talking about his actions as of late. Sides hadn’t meant it. He really hadn’t meant to hurt his brother. He had just wanted to love Blue and have his brother understand that this was his personal love. Bluestreak was not someone to be shared like a common whore.

He should have held his tongue and waited until they were alone for that discussion. Not the rec room. Now, Sunstreaker was falling apart, hurting himself and undoubtedly having spark issues. How long had it been since his brother had stabilized?

The words escaped him before he could stop himself, “But… I’m worried about him.”

Ratchet seemed to wilt at that, frowning softly before he added, “I know, but right now… you have to let me deal with this. Please, go. Talk to Bluestreak. He seemed really upset. I explained twin-bonds to him, but there still seems to be a misunderstanding there. Now, finish moving yourself and Hound, then take care of your lover. You made this mess for him. It’s best to let him know it was all to keep him.”

The medic watched as Sideswipe twitched at the last part of that statement, his hand slowly releasing his brother’s. Sideswipe shoulders wilted like a sun-denied flower as he stepped away, his red form slowly leaving.

Ratchet watched his departure for only a moment before he turned his attention back to the valve in question. This was awful, and he had been masturbating? Something was seriously wrong. Why would Sunstreaker not tell him about this? He was in the med bay this whole time. Was he ashamed of such an injury? And why would he still want to touch such a seriously injured wound? Was it to make himself feel sexual? Was this some kind of mental trauma from the _virgin_ comment and he had been mutilating himself ever since?

No. This was obviously a spike wound. He had seen this type of wound before… in rape victims.

Ratchet’s optics went bright, his mind following an invisible trail. Yes, this type of tearing was common of rape victims. Some even hid the injury in just this way. They then would continue to try to make themselves feel sexual, trying to recapture normalcy such as with masturbating.

The scream on the battlefield the other day.

Why had Sunstreaker been behind enemy lines? How had he gotten back there? Why wasn’t be offline… had… had some Decepticon?

No. Stop thinking that way.

Sunstreaker might have been the second born but was stronger than that. He would put up a huge fight. He would have been covered his dents and wounds, not merely discombobulated with some minor walking issues.

Yes, it was probably just one of the bigger mechs on base trying to be rough and going too far. That had to be it.

That had to be it.

He’d get the name from Sunstreaker when he onlined. And if the front-liner wouldn’t tell him… well, there weren’t many mechs that size on base.

…

“I am glad you agreed to do this Hound,” stated Prowl as he walked down the halls with the green mech at his side, carrying the last of his things from his old room.

“Oh, I don’t mind, Prowl. I mean Sunstreaker seems a little more like a real bot with emotions now and not like a demon from the pit anymore,” stated Hound, immediately twitching when he got a slight glare from his commanding officer. “That … came out wrong. What I mean to say is … he’s far easier to relate to now. His characteristics seem somewhat reasonable now. Secrets can make a bot bitter and cold after all.”

Prowl’s wings dipped a little and he nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face as he stated, “I’m glad you are so understanding Hound. Sunstreaker and you have never butted heads, but if he needs a friend … I’m glad to know that you will be open minded about it.”

“Sure thing, but what does Sunstreaker think of me replacing … Sideswipe?” he asked reluctantly, the twin’s fight still echoing in his mind.

Prowl was silent for a moment, stalling in front of Sunstreaker’s and now Hound’s habitation suite. “He was informed of the possibility of a roommate but given his emotional state … I don’t know if he comprehended that he might actually get a new roommate. He’s been … distracted. I will remind him soon, though.”

Hound frowned at this but said nothing, the stoic Prowl keying in the new password and whispering it back to Hound as the door opened. The tactician added, “And … do you know about twin bounds and their need for spark stabilization?”

Swallowing, plating pulling tight to his body, his interfacing equipment pinging at the thought of being ravaged in his own berth by a stabilization deprived mech, Hound replied, “It’s been the talk of the base. Though, everyone is keeping their mouths shut around Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker, from what I heard, no longer wants to bond with Sideswipe so he has to have someone else to… fulfill the role in keeping his half-spark stabilized.”

Hound swallowed. “Everyone’s waiting to see who he’s going to pick or if he’s just going to break down and … have Ratchet do it for him. I thought it was a rumor, but when I heard the regulations for Sideswipe … just what happened between those two in the med bay?”

Prowl’s door wings were twitching, fury under his plates. Were all the men waiting to see who would get to frag a _virginal_ Sunstreaker? The audacity of the rumor was enough to make Prowl want to punish most of the men, but there was no point in such actions. It was bound to get out sooner or later.

The Second in Command inclined his head just slightly, adding, “For the most point, yes, Sunny will need to stabilize. If, since you will be his roommate and will have far closer interactions, are ever approached by Sunstreaker in an intimate way that you find inappropriate, feel free to comm Ratchet and have him deal with it. Or… if you feel comfortable, I’m sure you will be a perfect gentle-mech about it.”

Hound went stiff as he tried not to blush, inclining his helm and babbled, “S-sure. Gentle-mech.”

“Good. Now welcome home,” added Prowl, the lights in the room turning on as the door opened. “If you ever feel that you can’t handle Sunstreaker and his present circumstances, just let me know.”

…

Sunny blinked his optics on and off, his form shivering when the first thing his senses decided to inform him of was that his cod piece was open and was being greeted by cool air. He moaned and slowly closed his legs, ready to sit up and look for his cod piece and get the slag out of this sensitive position. Yet, before he could even sit up, a red hand was placed on either of his knees and a frowning Ratchet looked up at him, growling, “I wasn’t done yet, spread them.”

“What?” choked Sunny, suddenly awake and trying not to note that First Aid was behind the elder medic and eyeing Sunstreaker’s equipment, intrigued. H-had his valve been a lesson for the medic’s students? He even saw Swoop out of the corner of his optic, washing his hands.

Sunstreaker offlined his optics, holding back a click of shame before he barked, “I was a lesson?! Who didn’t see my valve!”

“Everyone agreed that Swoop and First Aid could observe any repairs I make in order to learn. Including you. And let’s just say most mechs or femmes don’t let their valves get ripped up and fester like that, so it was a valuable lesson,” Ratchet growled, hands tightening on Sunstreaker’s knees as he added, “They needed to know how to treat such a wound. A wound that you should have told me about joors ago, slagger! You were in the medical bay for Primus sake!”

Sunstreaker twitched at the tone, the medic starting to dent his legs with his grip. Yet, just as quickly as the rage came, it was gone as Ratchet added, “Now, you heard me. Spread your legs so I can see if my repairs took. Replacing over half of the valve’s meta-flesh is not a minor repair nor was widening your valve.”

Sunstreaker nearly sat up, frowning in confusion. “Widening my… valve? How did you…”

“It’s like prepping a mech for birthing,” Ratchet added nonchalantly, finally just prying the legs apart.

Sunstreaker ignored the ping from his spike that stated it could pressurize at any moment as Ratchet gazed at his valve. Why the frag was he horny at all? This whole situation should be anything but arousing.

“It’s simple if a little painful,” said Ratchet, ignoring Sunstreaker’s squirming. “Not that I would have normally done it, but given your partner’s size, I felt inclined to. They are far too large for you, Sunstreaker. They should have known that and been more gentle. Now tell me who the frag you’re fragging so I can slag them and maybe decrease the size of their spike while I’m at it.”

Wincing at the idea of Ratchet grabbing a hold of Megatron’s wonderful spike and defiling it almost made Sunstreaker sick. He wanted his valve to gulp up more of that warm excrete from said large item. His valve even gave a hungry throb at the thought of it. Sunny immediately blushed when he noticed his growing arousal … He hoped the Hatchet hadn’t noticed.

If he did, Ratchet didn’t say anything as he continued his rant, “The slagger should have given your valve a few klicks or so to adjust to their size. The stretch I performed does not make your valve impenetrable to rough treatment and needs to be done every few joors. Now, slide back down the table and spread them wide so I can check my repairs.”

Slowly, trying not to look at the medics eyeing him, Sunny slid down and lifted his knees, spreading himself wide. Ratchet paid no mind to Sunny’s sudden modesty and, with practiced hands, he immediately pressed two fingers on the equipment and slid the valve to the top. Despite himself, the front-liner’s valve gave a hungry throb and he knew the medics saw it by the way First Aid looked away for a moment. He was probably blushing under that mask.

“So, who was it? Is it a permanent thing or a one night stand kind of relationship? I need to know because I can already tell that your spark is starting to get deprived,” added the medic, taking a bottle from First Aid and squirting it on his hands.

“None of your business, and what the frag is that … ahhh!”

Sunstreaker nearly came off the berth when he felt a pair of warm greased hands suddenly assault his port, spreading his valve open with his forefingers. Then, caring little that Sunny looked mortified, Ratchet brought his face down to the yellow mech’s interface equipment and started eyeing the valve walls as his optics brightened. First Aid gave Sunstreaker a pitying look.

“Hmmm. You still look a little raw but the new graphs are taking nicely. Hopefully, the meta-flesh is functioning properly. In fact, we just as well test it,” added Ratchet suddenly, Sunstreaker opening his mouth about to ask how he was going to do that when he felt those greased, warmed fingers press inside him and start scissoring.

Sunstreaker immediately tried to pull away, yelping, “What the hell are you doing?!”

Ratchet pull him back down with one harsh tug on a hip, placing himself between Sunstreaker’s legs while practiced fingers worked back inside of the valve, thrusting in an unhurried pace. Ratchet, unashamed, got into Sunstreaker’s face. “Testing your valve. It needs to be done for that type of meta-flesh replacement. So, it’s either my warm fingers or a cold medical tool thrusting into you?”

Sunstreaker swallowed, remembering that cold tool from his first valve examination as a soldier. His lip twitched in horror. Ratchet understood the expression well enough.

“Now,” continued the head medic. “I just want to make sure your valve is healthy with one valve overload. Besides, First Aid and Swoop need to know how to do this. Meanwhile, you can tell me why you don’t want me to know your partner’s name.”

Sunstreaker almost wheezed as he felt those two fingers slowly being joined by a third. Pumping up and down like hard, hot pistons.

Oh slag, if felt so good to have someone touching him. Frag. Sooo good.

Wait.

No. No! NO!  

What the pit was wrong with him? Was his spark really so deprived that he was getting all hot and heavy for Ratchet the Hatchet? The medic was good with his hands, don’t get him wrong, but he should have been disgusted a little bit longer before giving in and dripping lube all down the medic’s hand.

Nonetheless, a poorly disguised whine escaped him, and Sunny’s traitorous valve started to ripple, sucking at the fingers inside him. Frag. It was euphoria with how the medic thrust into him just right while simultaneously rubbing his thumb over the still unsheathed spike head. Ratchet was even being courteous enough to thrust his hand up and down as if it was a real spike penetrating him, sliding his aft up and down on the inclined medical berth.

“Well, don’t just suck my fingers or I’m going to drag this out so it’s painful and you’re begging for overload,” growled the medic in a threat.

Sunny whined, wondering if he should try to pull away and run off and finish himself off behind some engine or box, his liquids dripping onto the floor like a common whore. But Ratchet’s other hand was fixed firmly on his hip, holding him down … and those fingers were so _good_!

“I’m losing patience,” growled the mech in a threat, pumping so fast that it almost hurt, his valve swallowing in preparation only to have the medic stop.

“Ratchet!” whined Sunny, the cry so pathetic that Swoop looked away and Ratchet gave a dark look. “Please … don’t… ugh… no… uh.”

He tried to speak again, but Ratchet pulled out a little bit more making the Lamborghini whimper.

The medic, putting a threat in his voice, growled, “Tell me why I can’t have a name then? You are still in my direct care. I could keep you off duty instead of putting you on light duty, so you better give me a reason. Plus, you still haven’t talked to me about your feelings, Sunstreaker. I’m the closest thing we have to a psychologist right now on this base.”

Hating himself, desperately wanting to feel an orgasm in his valve, the front-liner whimpered, “F-fine. I’ll t-talk every F-Friday morning if you just finish me, but I won’t give you his name… he doesn’t want anyone to know. It was a p-private thing.”

Ratchet eyed the twin for a lie. He did seem genuine. So, Ratchet pressed his fingers back in, noting how Sunny’s valve greedily sucked them up. Sunstreaker immediately shifted his hips, glad to have those digits back inside him.

“Was it at least consensual?” Ratchet growled, eyeing the yellow mech for any lies.

“Y-yes, he fucked so good. I didn’t tell him it was hurting,” whined Sunstreaker, fucking Ratchet’s fingers himself as he pumped his hips. Primus, he was acting like a common whore? Why was he so needy? It generally took months to start to become unstable yet he had fragged Megatron in the desert only about a month ago. It hadn’t been that long.

What was wrong with him?

Ratchet observed his patient for a moment more and carefully asked, “Now tell me, is your spark hurting or in need of stabilization, Sunstreaker? It's best to do it now since you are wet and responsive.”

His arousal dropped immediately and Sunny stopped moving his hips, a frown forming. True, if he spark fragged with someone like Ratchet, it wasn’t the same as bonding with his brother. Thoughts, memories, and fears were less likely to be shared unless there was a bond. Then again, sometimes thoughts were shared regardless. Fragging a normal mech would only reveal the most powerful thoughts and feelings at the top of his consciousness… which had only been about Megatron lately. He couldn’t risk it. Though, his spark had been acting funny lately.

“No… never,” Sunstreaker ground out, trying to pull away from those wonderful fingers.

Ratchet just frowned at the childish display and pulled the yellow mech back down the berth as he grumbled, “Fine, better not be fraggen lying to me. Now, just calm down and let me finish you off.”

Ratchet then started pumping again, sliding in and out like a mech that was about to come. He even used his other hand to press into the bundles of wires he could reach between armor plates. Soon, Sunny was once again hot, digging his hand into the berth, whimpering as Ratchet hit all the right nodes. He was even crying with each pump of the hand, “Faster… deeper… please… more.”

The head medic soon had his fourth finger taunting the entrance of the valve as he asked, “Well, if you do need some assistance in that department, Sunstreaker, please ask. I don’t want your spark suffering. Now, don’t scream. This might be a private examination room, but the walls are thin and there are mechs sleeping in the med bay.”

“Please…” panted Sunny, “I’m not going too…”

Suddenly the medic’s hand seemed to vibrate, picking up speed while curling his fingers upward and hitting a node nicknamed the g-spot repeatedly. He was slamming into Sunstreaker so fast that Sunny was actually sliding a few inches up and down the berth with each penetration. It only took a nano-klick before Sunstreaker… screamed.

Ratchet chuckled as Sunny orgasmed around his fingers, hearing someone gripe on the other side of the thin wall about the noise. A moment later, Ratchet took a rag offered to him by Swoop. Said medic was watching with far too much interest as the valve sucked on Ratchet’s fingers as if tasting them. Noticing the gaze, Ratchet offered three more playful pumps before pulling out. Sunny merely sighed and offlined his optics in contentment.

Wiping his hands, Ratchet then handed the rag to Swoop, trying not to chuckle at the dinobot’s amazement. The young mech was _indeed_ becoming interested in interfacing. He’d even let the young mech cleanup Sunstreaker so he could feel someone else’s equipment in order to get an idea of how each mechs valve was different in size and sensitivity.

“Clean him up Swoop and be thorough. The valve is reacting fine, but its best to keep it healthy and stretched,” the head medic added, handing a valve stretcher to First Aid who held it with a sick fascination, looking from the twitching valve to the huge spike-shaped item with deranging horror. That was supposed to fit in that little hole?

The elder medic tried not to laugh at First Aid’s expression… nor Sunny’s face as he eyed it with intent. Ratchet grinned, almost mockingly as he added, “That, Sunstreaker, is what I’ve been using to stretch your valve. It is a stretcher stick.”

Ratchet handed the large almost spike looking object to Sunny, noting the slight look of horror on the front-liner’s face as he took in the size.

“It is not a toy or the equal of a human dildo. It is probably best to use it before recharge because I don’t think Red Alert would find it hilarious if you overloaded in the security room. Now, just lube up the entire shafted and then slowly press it inside your valve. It may pinch at first and will take a klick or two, but take your time easing it in. Leave it in your valve and don’t use it as a toy because it is far too large and you’ll just rip yourself up. So, just leave it in there,” he stated sternly before adding with a lecherous grin, “That doesn’t mean it won’t overload you, though, which is why it’s probably best to leave it in at night when there is … little movement. A walk down the hall would cause you to overload.”

Sunny just eyed Ratchet in shock and might have protested if Swoop hadn’t started cleaning him then, the valve oversensitive.

Turning his back, Ratchet added to the two trainees, “Now make sure Sunstreaker takes that with him. I’m going to go get a drink… and hunt for that damn spike that caused all this trouble.”

…

A joor later, Ratchet demanding Optimus come out of his office and join him for a drink, the medic soon found himself surround by most of the top command in the Ark. Prime was already pleasantly buzzed because no one, not even Prowl, would say no to a drink when that drink involved Ratchet’s special brew. Though, Prowl did demand that this better be made for medical purposes. Ratchet, of course, would always reply, ‘Frag, it is. It keeps me calm so I don’t kill you of all.’

No one, not even the tight aft tactician, could disagree with that. Besides, they all knew that Ratchet didn’t have these little overcharge parties for nothing. He wanted something and Ironhide thought it best to ask before all of them were too overcharge to think straight in order to say: _no_. Not that anyone said _no_ to the harpy easily.

“Soo…” drawled Ironhide, who had noted that Ratchet was eyeing him and Prime for most of the evening with a quizzical expression. “What’s on your mind, Hatchet?”

“Oh, nothing much. Prime, have you been fragging anyone on base? Perhaps, more than one time?” added Ratchet far too bluntly.

Prime, who was taking a sip of Ratchet’s famous brew, his facemask off in front of his most trusted soldiers, spewed his drink into the faces of the other soldiers at the table. Jazz and Prowl winced as it splashed over their faces. Ironhide, who had been shocked at the question but out of range, took his time in laugh his aft off. He was already, partially intoxicated.

Wiping his pouty lips, optics going bright, the leader frowned at his medical chief before adding, “I would never take advantage of any of the men on base. You know that.”

Eying the leader suspiciously for a moment, Ratchet shrugged and stated, “Apologies then Prime. It’s just that I’m looking for someone of your _size_ to beat for sexual incompetence. Some idiot was too rough and I spent my afternoon making repairs on some rather delicate equipment.”

The mechs at the table all cringed, Jazz’s hand moving down to guard his own delicate equipment.

“Yeah, I’m a little pissed about it,” growled the mech in frustration, his best lead dead. Prime seemed the likeliest candidate, though, the damage seemed a bit rough for kind-sparked Optimus.

“It’s just that,” continued the medic. “There aren’t many mech’s on the planet that size, Prime. So, once again I apologize.”

Optimus coughed and rubbed behind his neck as he spoke in a slight embarrassment, “Not a problem, Ratchet. I’m … glad … you know the staff so well that you note things like … sizes.”

All the other mech’s couldn’t help but laugh at this, even Prime putting in a warm chuckle. The conversation was so awkward with high grade in their veins, it was hard not to.

Only once the laughter had died down did Ratchet turn to the weapon specialist next to him and ask, “Was it you then, Ironhide? You’re a little smaller than Prime but still large enough.”

Everyone choked again, besides Ironhide who looked a bit flabbergasted before adding, “Well, I’m glad to know I’m one of the largest ones on base, Ratchet, but the answer is no. This old mechs been having a dry run.”

Frowning at this, Ratchet sighed and mumbled, “Well, this was a bust. There are only a few more choices left on base then. Shouldn’t be too hard to find out who it was.”

The other mech’s chuckling a bit more, Prowl probably already making a mental list of who the poor bastard could be so he could be put on light duty, the Third in Command knowingly couldn’t help but ask, “On another note, is Sunstreaker fit for duty yet?”

Ratchet was silent for a klick, a serious air taking over table before he stated, “No, he’s obviously been emotionally unstable over this second born paranoia for a while and along with what happened with Sideswipe, it’s going to take time. Time … which none of has during a war. So, I reached an agreement with him. He agreed to weekly consoling with me unless we have someone more qualified show up on base. So, for now, just help me keep an optic on him before I allow him to be put on normal duty again. He will be put on light duty, though.”

“Understandable,” agreed Prime. “I hope he takes this time to heal.”

“In more ways than one,” agreed Ratchet as he looked down at his drink. He might become an alcoholic at this rate. Everyone on base was trying to drive him up a wall.

…

Later that day, Sunstreaker was walking down the hall, Swoop having finally allowed him to go to his room to try his first… stretching. He then was supposed to come in for an examination the following morning just to make sure he didn’t rip himself. Personally, Sunstreaker didn’t want to look like he was already sex deprived, carrying the dildo impersonation down the hall for the whole crew to see, so he just… stuck it up there. Now, he wished he had just put it in his subspace because he was now twitching like he was Red Alert.

Frag. His valve was just going crazy, sucking that false spike as if trying to get water from a rock. It was like his _valve_ was hungry, and he wasn’t about to stop in some random room and pull it out, dripping lube and other things all down his leg. Plus, he wasn’t going to put a wet stretcher in his clean subspace.

He could take another one or two overloads…

Maybe.

Unfortunately, he was so out of it, his mind completely distracted by his tightening valve that he barely noticed he was leaning again the wall, panting when Blaster came up to him. The cassette rack had a worried expression on his face. The red mech even puts a hand on Sunny’s back in what was meant to be a comforting touch. Instead, it nearly made Sunstreaker overload from the contact alone.

“You okay, Sunshine? What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Need me to call the old Hatchet?” stated the communication’s expert, his visor blinking in worry.

Sunstreaker tried to not laugh or moan as he ground his denta together, “I’m anything but in pain. Just give me a klick … and don’t jostle me. In fact, can you help me to my berth?”

Blaster frowned at this, not liking that answer, “Naw, you’re going to Ratchet, pal.”

Sunstreaker finally laughed, adding bitterly, “Please, he was the one that did this to me. Now help me to my berth before I get valve juice all over the floor.”

Giving a wide optic look, Blaster … laughed. Glad none of his young cassettes were with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to sound like a perv, but we all know I am. The last scene was inspired by a story I heard. Apparently, there are girls/women that will go around with beads up there or other small items and walk around the mall or take a drive, orgasming. I don’t know how they don’t trip or get into an accident. I’d think that would be rather distracting. Also, I don’t feel the best about the scene with Prime… it’s a little too cutesy… but then again everyone is getting tankard, even Prowl. XD 
> 
> Revisions March 2017


	9. Accepting and Rejecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-klick: Second ; Klick: Minute ; Groon: Hour ; Joor: Day ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller-Cycle: Year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Predictably, Ratchet had heard about what had happened with the stretcher stick in the halls and, of course, it had been awkward since everyone heard how Sunstreaker had overloaded in the hall. At least no one really knew why besides the medics.  

That wasn’t the worst part, though. After becoming nearly deaf from Ratchet’s ranting, Sunny was sent back to his room… to find the light on. A part of him, small and warm, thought for a moment that it was his brother, that this was a day from yesterdays, and that it was a time in the past where his brother would look up from his perch on his berth as call him…

“Oh… Sunstreaker.”

… _Sunny_. He was supposed to call him _Sunny_ because he hated it, absolutely detested it, but it always was alright if Sideswipe said it. He just reminded his brother he hated that name so no one else would pick up the habit. Sadly, this wasn’t Sideswipe and it was probably for the best it wasn’t him. He was still angry at his twin. Plus, Sunstreaker was also far too ashamed to be with his brother. He could never combine sparks with his brother ever again unless he wanted to be court marshaled … And quickly disowned by his only family.

“Hound. What are you doing here?” The yellow twin asked, wondering if he could just grab some things and leave, but he was really tired. Being around Ratchet was just fraggen exhausting.

The green mech put on a forced smile. “Well, I needed a place to sleep so Prowl put me here. He said he would tell you.”

Sunstreaker was silent for a long time, looking through his messages. Ah, right there. Suddenly, he felt like an idiot, “Oh… “

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other and then Hound rubbed the back of his helm, smiling, “Well… it’s nice in here. Roomy.”

Sunstreaker’s vents struggled not to whimper in misery before he slowly nodded, stating, “Yeah, it’s great… Just don’t touch my things. The shower is always cold so I recommend the public showers. I’m going to take one regardless and then go into recharge… if you stay up late, please use the lamp.”

Not waiting for a reply, Sunny shut the door to the clensing room and turned on the freezing water. From that point, he did the only thing he could. He prayed that Primus would be kind to him and cover the sound of his weeping. Regardless, when he came out what felt like joors later, Hound couldn’t look him in the optic.

He had heard him, hadn’t he?

And so, that was how the week progressed, a silent solitude following the front-liner around everyone he interacted with besides Hound who only got _good mornings_ and _turn on the lamp_. There was also the occasional inquiry on what the other was reading if only to kill the silence. Sunstreaker hadn’t seen Sideswipe once during this time. Prowl’s over thinking was finally useful as far and Sunny was concerned.

Yet, the world had suddenly seemed stagnant as well.  

It seemed that Sideswipe’s return had somehow stained his dreams of Megatron, and Bluestreak was a constant reminder of that. The young mech never came over to speak with him, but the young mech’s presence felt like Sideswipe himself had walked by with his cod piece open stating that Sunstreaker could no longer have _this_. He wasn’t good enough.

Not that he needed his brother… he had Megatron. Yes, it was wrong. There wasn’t a fiber in his being that didn’t say it wasn’t wrong. He knew he should be disgusted by the thought of the warlord’s oral fluids mixing with his when they kissed, and the thought of his touch should burn like that of red irons. Mostly, he should be trying to claw his innards out to get rid of that wretched part that sloshed with Megatron’s fluids: his carrying chamber.

Regardless, Sunny’s chamber actually seemed to throb with a pleasurable warmness as it slowly absorbing a small part of the warlord.

He actually smiled at the thought as he read his data-pad, forgetting someone else was in the room until he heard a small chuckle come from the opposite side of the room. For a moment, in a haze, Sunstreaker thought it was Sideswipe only to have his mind push away the mist and reveal who was really there.

Hound, again, like every night for the past Earth week.

The mech was staring at him with a faint smile, slowly putting down the sand garden he had been playing with, a gift surprisingly from Prowl it seemed. The tactician was greatly interested in the idea of mediation, or so it was rumored. It did make sense, he was inhumanly calm sometimes.

“Didn’t know you actually had a smile like that, Sunstreaker. You should smile more often. People might not be put off by your silent behavior then,” stated Hound, his voice almost a norm at this point.

Despite how much Sunstreaker wanted to resent that comment, he couldn’t manage to glare. This was a testing moment, Sunstreaker knew it. They had been in the same room for nearly a week and had not had any real bonding or destructive moments. Basically, Hound was wondering if Sunstreaker was going to bound across the room and rip him to shreds or chuckle at him.

Instead, Sunstreaker threw a bean bag chair (pillow in a transformer’s case) at the other mech in _almost_ a playful manner.

Hound wasn’t _so_ bad. Perhaps loneliness was the only reason he was able to act somewhat playfully before stating, “I think you’re going blind, Hound. Anyway, I’m going to the car wash. I’ll be back later. Don’t get sand on my pillow.”

Optics onlining and offlining in shock, Hound frowned and then smiled, “Alright, but I’m keeping the pillow until I see that smile again, and since you are going out, Bluestreak’s been looking for you.”

Sunstreaker almost stalled at the door in a type of revulsion but forced himself forward and out of the door without another word despite his mind’s current turmoil. It was searching for the answers as to why Bluestreak would ever want to talk to him again.

In fact, even when he got back from town and the carwash, his mind was running circles around him. Did Sideswipe want to apologize through his lover? Did Bluestreak want to apologize for the whole situation? Did they just want to yell at Sunny for being an aft?

Who knew? Sunstreaker sure didn’t, and he was just going to ignore the youth with as much determination as he did Sideswipe. As far as he was concerned, Bluestreak was now a part of Sideswipe’s being and thus had to be hated and regarded as a pariah, a traitor to the spark.

Luckily, Prowl seemed to support that idea when it came to Sideswipe, placing rooms and shifts far apart from each other. Unfortunately, Prowl had not calculated such steps for Bluestreak. The kid was a pet of the tacticians anyway. So, when they little, gray mech suddenly appeared in the corner of his vision, the yellow Lamborghini resisted the urge to rise to his feet and punch the younger mech’s face in. He just settled for ignoring the blabber mouth. He didn’t care how many optics were watching. As far as he was concerned, there was no mech standing next to his table asking in a meek voice: _If he could sit here?_

 It wasn’t until the strain pulled itself throughout the whole rec room that Ironhide, with a grunt, rose to leave for his shift. Departing, he gripping Sunstreaker’s shoulder and hissed in his audio receptors, “I believe the kid ask’d you a question.”

Shrugging off the old mech’s touch, the front-liner reluctantly looked up from his cube and in the most emotionless tone he could muster, stated, “Sit where you want, Bluestreak. I don’t care.”

He then went back to sipping his second cube, reading the data-pad he had gotten from Teletraan-1. It was battle tactics on Megatron. In truth, some would think it was so he could try taking on the brute again, but in actuality… the document had pictures.

After an awkward moment of silence, the rec room slowly regaining its buzz like a marsh full of mosquitoes, Bluestreak finally sat down. He placed two cubes with him. One was most likely for his traitorous brother. A silence hung before the youth finally whispered, “I know you don’t want to talk to me.”

“Really,” said Sunstreaker bitterly, not even looking up from his reading. “I thought the blatant way I was ignoring you was fairly obvious. Now say what you wanted to say and get out of my face. As far as I’m concerned your presence is just as nauseating as my brothers… what happened in our room the other day was not forgiveness.”

Bluestreak swallowed, surprising quiet as he recalled the moans that had drifted out of the door. He even remembered the short cry that followed after with disturbing clarity. He didn’t want to remember the energon dripping down Sunstreaker’s leg, a valve injury, but Sideswipe had practically begged him to come and ask. He had to do this.

Biting his lip component for a moment, the sniper finally asked, “Sideswipe knows that you haven’t forgiven him. He’s still going to try really hard, though, but this is about something else. If you don’t mind. I know that you are reading and drinking, but since we are both just sitting here and Sideswipe asked. Perhaps it wouldn’t be much of a bother if -”

Sunstreaker, his optic twitching as the normal blabber mouth Bluestreak rose to the surface, finally looked away from his data-pad, nearly snarling, “And what does that slagger want?”

The front-liner wanted to add slut or whore to that sentence but refrained. He was angry. He was enraged that the young mech would have the audacity to sit at the same table as him, but as long as he had his pleasure, Megatron and his spike if jubilation, he would refrain.

If only these were more than pictures in the data-pad, though, he was sure that there would be all out panic if there was a real Megatron sitting with him as he consumed his energon, rubbing his lower back in a sensual manner. It was a nice thought, though.

Bluestreak’s optics looked hurt, but he sucked it up and finally stated, “Sideswipe heard about what had happened in the hall with Blaster, and then the incident in your room the other day. He wants to know if you need… if your spark is… stable?”

Sunny had forgotten about his data-pad and his optics gained a harsh glint.

“I don’t need him to frag me… OR ANYONE ELSE!” The front-liner yelled, raising his voice since he knew a rumor was going around as well. It seemed that the gossip had died down a little, though, since he hadn’t _raped_ Hound in his recharge yet.

“If I need to be fragged, I have fingers,” he hissed, watching the younger mech look away in embarrassment for a nano-klick.

Bluestreak still found his words, regardless. He would offline with words in his mouth one day. “He’s just worried about you.”

A moment of awkward silence followed after, the whole room staring, before Sunstreaker sighed and relented, his voice soft. Despite everything, he would always love his brother. “You can tell him my spark is fine. I was just playing … with a toy Ratchet gave me.”

Bluestreak seemed to sag in relief, a sad smile on his face, “I’ll tell him. He just really wants to make sure you are okay and … to talk to you.”

Sunstreaker’s lip twitched, but he kept his voice down when noticed he was being stared at by higher officers. “He betrayed my trust. That is not easily forgiven. It will take much more than a little apology from either of you to regain anything from me.”

Slowly nodding his head, Blue’s optics got bright and he actually jumped to his feet smiling in a way only Blue could, “But you will one day forgive him, right? You didn’t say never.”

 _Only if he can forgive me_ thought Sunny bitterly, before adding verbally, “He is my brother. I will always forgive him, but that day is not today. And don’t you dare hug me! You could have told me as easily as Sideswipe about your relationship.”

The gunner, who looked like he was about to jump over the table in his joy, stopped moving as he nodded. His voice was happy. The stress that had been in the room now seeming to deflate like everyone was holding their breath. None of the slaggers could keep to their own conversations it seemed. Regardless, Sunny didn’t know why he offered the gunner hope as he reached for his cube, but he was just too tired to fight about it right now. His spark just felt like it was deflating, stinging even.

Bluestreak always did have a nice smile, though, and when he was confused it was even cuter. He … could kind of see why Sideswipe fell for the little gunner. Nonetheless, he should have told him.

“Umm… Sunstreaker,” interrupted the youth, seeming bemused now as he started rambling, “Not that I’m upset or anything. I don’t want to ruin the mood. Plus, it’s right across the room. But perhaps if you may. I was just…”

Well, at least this was normal. Blue never did know when to shut up.

“Just out with it,” grumbled the yellow twin as he took a sip.

“Well,” finally came the gray mech, “It’s just that you already drank two cubes of your own rations and are about to start on Sideswipe’s and mine. Sides has limited rations as part of his punishment.”

The yellow twin froze, optics going bright as he noticed two empty cubes in front of him yet he was starting on a third one? He quickly checked his systems. They were all full, content, not even a shortage of energy. So why were his systems bidding him to fill his reserves? It wasn’t like he was planning on rocketing through space in nothing but an armored protoform or going to go days without drinking… so why?

Putting the cube down he hummed and stated out loud for Bluestreak more than himself, “Sorry, for some reason my system is trying to fill all my reserves. I must be getting a virus and my system knows it.”

Bluestreak frowned, adding, “Well, better do a quick scan while you are in recharge because it can be really bad to be sick. Like when Spike was sick and then Sparkplug and then Carly. So…”

He put a hand up, grumbling, “I get it… get rid of it before someone else gets it and Ratchet hands me my aft. Now… leave me to think. My patience is wearing thin.”

Yet, despite his cold attitude, Blue left the room with a skip in his step. He saw a little hope at the end of the tunnel. The gunner might have even stopped to give Hound, who was heading in the opposite direction, a hug if the mech didn’t look dead on his feet. It must have been what Sunny was catching.

…

Ratchet wandered down the hall away from his med bay, thinking.

He had just Asked Skyfire if he had been having relations within the crew. The scientist had sputtered, blushed and whimpered, _‘No… um, I haven’t been with anyone in a … long time.’_

Now that was just frustrating. He was running out of larger frames with naturally large spikes. Had one of the mechs had an enlargement and not documented it? He wouldn’t put it past Cliffjumper. That mech always liked things bigger, but who else would have the audacity to do that on their own?

Regardless, he was the only one with the skills to successfully do that on Earth and he wouldn’t waste parts on something so useless. Not that he didn’t like a good fragging as much as the next mech, he did know how to appreciate a large spike, but it was just impractical in war-time. That metal could be used for far more needed equipment.

Things were just not adding up… something had to be wrong. The few weekly visits he had had with Sunstreaker had revealed nothing except that the front-liner was most likely sexually repressed and liked parodies. No real surprise in either one of those, given Sideswipe’s prank wars that he would sometimes rope Sunstreaker into.

He still had to figure this out… what caused…

“Afternoon, Ratchet.”

Hearing another mech’s words echoing in his thoughts, he looked up to see a very lethargic looking Hound wandering up to him, practically asleep on his feet. He placed out a hand and stalled the other immediately, asking, “Hound… you look exhausted. Have you not been recharging well?”

The green mech sighed and then shrugged before stating, “Not really, especially last night.”

Ratchet went stiff. He knew they were just rumors about Sunstreaker jumping someone, but he added, “It’s not… Sunstreaker is it? He hasn’t been inappropriate or anything, has he?”

Hound perked up, catching the undertones. He suddenly felt embarrassed having heard a thousand dirty jokes just like this one recently. He quickly shook his helm and stated, “N-no… at least not that way. Well… the stretcher thing is inappropriate, but at least he’s been trying to hide that from me. So, nothing towards me personally.”

Frowning, not surprised that Hound had discovered the stretcher being that he was a scout, Ratchet inquired, “Be a little more specific, will you?”

“Well,” rubbing the back of his head, feeling a bit guilty about ratting his roommate out, Hound stated, “He’s been talking in his recharge, moaning really. About Sides, and Blue and strangely old Megs… the slagger must have hit him really hard the other day if he still dreams of being in pain.”

Ratchet frowned, asking, “Well, let me give you a nice code sequence that will block out nightly noises like that… but do tell me more.”

…

It had been a hard day, the sun setting outside.

Not physically, but emotionally. Sunstreaker’s very spark hurt. Perhaps that was why he had been so tired recently. So, it really irritated him that he woke up nearly a human hour or two before he even needed to get up. He quickly grumbled and beadily looked over at his roommate. Hound’s back was turned to him and he was still pleasantly recharging.

What had woken him up then?

He turned his attention to the door at that moment and waited for the door to be knocked on. When that didn’t happen, his face scrunched up, wondering what the pit had stirred him from his black oasis of silence when there was a soft blink on his hub.

The front-liner’s optics went wide and before he could stop himself, he turned his head to the side of his berth and releasing the contents of his tank. He didn’t even care that he woke Hound from his recharge as he released his tanks contents again and again until there was nothing left. The tubing in his throat was even constricting and making him choke each time it failed to pull nonexistent fuel from his now empty tank.

He didn’t care if Hound was now sitting up, optics bright in surprise and worry, asking him what was wrong.

He just kept trying to get the filth out of him. He had to get it out. It didn’t matter that his whole form was shaking from the effort. He just couldn’t… stomach it. His hub had to be lying to him. The message was too impossible, too dire. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. All he could do was lean over his berth in the half-dark. He wanted to cry out to his brother’s spark and have him come and tell him his systems was lying to him, that it was a bad dream. He had just woken up. It had to be a dream. It had to be. There’s no way. The last person he … it was just … it had to be … he must have been imagining … it was impossible … it was lying too …

Suddenly, there was a soft hand on his shoulder and Sunny jumped, choking a whimper back as he sat up and looked Hound in the optic. The other mech’s words finally reached him in his moment of incomprehensible horror.

This wasn’t a dream.

“Sunstreaker… are you okay? Was it some bad energon or do I have to call Ratchet to come look at you? For a moment, I thought you were really in a bad way, shaking like that,” stated Hound, looking the other Autobot over with a keen optic. He was no medic, true, but he could do basic field patches.

Sunny just stared at the green mech, his optics so bright it was almost blinding to look right at them in the dark.

It wasn’t until the silence dragged on for a minute or two, that Sunny was barely able to whisper, “M-must have been. L-let me clean it up.”

His voice was dazed, his hands were shaking, and Hound was quick to put out a palm and stop him. “No, just lie back down, Sunstreaker. I’ll clean it up and give you a little energon from my private stock. If you don’t seem better in the mornin’, we go to Ratchet. Okay? Don’t want to wake old Hatchet at such an hour.”

Sunny nodded his head, still in a daze as Hound offered him a half cube of light-grade energon. The green mech even helped him raise it to his lips, almost forcing him to drink. Still, Sunny muttered thanks, not even noting that his roommate kept throwing worried glances as he slowly laid back down. His entire system was in shock, his optics still on bright, anything but sleep was coming to him tonight.

It had to be wrong.

It HAD to be wrong for if it was true: it was not okay. He would be pulling out tubing in his abdomen right now, trying to rid himself of _it_ , but he was too stunned to do much more then lay there and listen to his roommate clean up his mess.

He had to think this through.

There was no way he was Heavy with a sparklet. There was no way his spark had been nursing a little orb right next to his own for over a month and a half now, having finally stabilized. It now wanted to drop it into Sunstreaker’s carrying chamber so the sparklet could start its spark case and protoform. The systems just needed to gain acceptance in order to drop the partially developed spark. The command was actually blinking softly on his hub at this very moment. B-but it was illogical. Twins were only half a spark… and he was male. There hadn’t been a male carrier since the golden age. There were just too many variables and femmes were far more fertile.

Yet, here he was, hub blinking that the carrying chamber was full of nanites, reserves were full, and the spark was stabilized. It was now time to accept the sparkling’s drop so it could start to grow and expand inside him.

Like a squirming, worming little parasite.

Sunkstreaker nearly upchucked again at the horror of such a realization, images of something squirming in his systems making him throw his hand over his mouth to stop him from losing his energon again. Hound had just given that to him. If he lost his energon again, the green mech would be pulling him to Ratchet’s in an instant… and there was no way to hide this once Ratchet plugged into his hub for an examination.

He had to hide this… get rid of this… Megatron had to be kept a secret. This parasite was a mistake.

He … He would just have to reject it and ignore the request for the sparkling’s drop into his chamber. Sooner or later the little spark would just fade without the ability to drop and it would be as if it had never happened. Unfortunately, given that theory, there was nothing but a _yes_ option and _wait_. Sunstreaker had no idea why, but he’d just have to keep putting it off.

Sooner or later it would offline. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? It wasn’t me. Eh, alright. I get a sick joy out of imagining you all going ‘what the fuck’ and ‘why’ as well as any other random screams of rage as said readers get a hold of not only one cliffhanger but two in one chapter. A lot of you guessed it, but this isn’t going to be your normal tale of a knocked up Autobot. Sunny likes his secrets and he may disown his own brother to keep them. Also, Hound is such a good guy… a good Autobot. I want him as a roomie. :)
> 
> Revisions March 2017.


	10. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the idea, Ayami1. XD

 

Megatron sat on his throne with his chin perched on his fist. He stared out the command window at the fish and other tentacle beasts that roamed the waters and clogged one’s intakes when they went outside. Yet, he could care less about that. His mind was … elsewhere.

For the past day or so his mind was ravenous, hungry for a gleam of gold, yellow sunshine. The dark ocean was smothering him… he’d been twitchy all day and Soundwave seemed to notice. Said mech was actually standing at the side of his throne, silent as ever… waiting for an inquiry but never making a sound.

“I want him…” Megatron finally said.

There was a moment of silence before Soundwave replied, “Inquiry: the Autobot, designation: Sunstreaker?”

His finger’s tapped on his throne impatiently for a moment before he stated, “Yes, he’s all I’ve been able to think of today. I want him… badly.”

Soundwave still before replying in his usual drawl, “Inquiry: capture or contact?”

His spark thumped at the idea of kidnapping the front-liner and then ravishing him in his berth again and again, filling him so much that his nanites would just seep out of his lover’s valve when he was finally satisfied, but no. He wanted the yellow mech completely, emotionally. He could not do so with Sunny being stolen from his kin.

At least not now. If he could put the right spin on it… he could steal the Lamborghini and still make himself seem the hero.

Yes… but the time wasn’t right now. He wasn’t as great a strategist as the famed Prowl, but this war hadn’t dragged out as long as it had because he had no form of planning. He could be patient when he really wanted something… but he’d still twitch with his longing.

“Contact him… for now. See if we can have a meeting sometimes soon. Now let me be, lock the door,” he stated, waving the Communications Officer off with the hiss of a shutting and locking door.

The room was silent, not another soul in the room before he sighed in resignation, his spike poking at his cod piece.

Sunstreaker was really the only thing he could think of all morning, his spark casting dreams of lust all night and he had yet to satisfy himself with said thoughts of his lovely little Autobot. Lazily leaning against his thrown, he reached for his cod piece and popped it open, revealing a hard and aroused spike.

Taking his metallic cock in hand, he pressed his thumb against the tip of his member, gaining some pre-cum. Slowly, he slid it up and down his shaft as a type of lube and offlined his optics, spreading his legs wide. In truth he could just call in one of soldiers, a drone, or Soundwave and most would gladly allowing him to frag them. There wouldn’t be for any emotional attachment though, just a hope for some rise in rank… or just a good fragging. It wouldn’t take much of an imagination to conclude that Megatron was big.

But he didn’t want any of his mechs. Frag, he didn’t even want a femme to fulfill his lust right now.

He wanted a sun colored mech that moaned his name and clung to him as if the world was falling away.

He was glad he had kept all those images, those moans, those hungry lips trying to suck the metal from his frame, devouring him in more than spark and cum. His spike was erect and already starting to weep as he started to run through the images of his little consort.

He’d kill to have the yellow mech on his lap right now, bouncy up and down in ecstasy and that image alone made him moan, his hand speeding up and down his shaft.

He moaned once more in his throat as he imaged pouty lips pressing against his audio, arms cling around his neck before the Autobot’s head rolled back revealing his neck. Megatron then imagined he would growl possessively before he would start nipping and sucking on those neck cables his large hands under that aft and thighs, gripping them as he bounced his lover.

He could feel the pre-cum dripping down past his member, pooling between his legs and staining his throne.

Frag, he was getting really hot, his hand pumping faster as he imagined the wonderful valve constricting, yet he was now imagining whispering for the other to open his spark. He wanted that spark. So well did it mesh with his, so wonderful was its energy… its need.

Oh… uhhh.

He knew he was moaning now, a deep whine as he was struggling to keep silent so no passerby would hear its merry tone.

Soon his seed would spill and a part of him almost felt bad it couldn’t spill into his little Autobot, to have that valve lap it up and Sunstreaker sigh in contentment. His own valve didn’t even want to have the other’s spike in him… he needed to spill into that clenching valve. Sunstreaker needed his nanites inside him…

U…Uh… Uh. He was getting closer. The thought of those blue optics going almost white when he shot his hot cum into the others valve and Sunny would…

“What the pit are you doing?”

Megatron’s optics flashed online and his hand stopped, his optics going wide as he stared at a red form … with wings. For a moment, he was flabbergasted and a part of him was actually embarrassed, angry  even that his Second had seen him masturbating. At least he wasn’t playing with his valve, but still. Soundwave had locked the doors, knowing already his needs so how did …

Oh yeah, Second in Command… to the command deck. That would override Third in Command.

He should have went to his room, but his throne… he really wanted to frag his little Autobot here. He didn’t have many fantasies besides conquering Cybertron and defeating Prime, but this was a new one that he could not ignore.

“What the frag? What are you doing here?” hissed Megatron, releasing his aching member, the spike slowly being partially covered up by the palm of his hand. It was then, as his fingers met the metal surface of his throne, that he felt the lube. He almost choked when he also noticed that the flier’s trine was behind their unit leader and Skywarp was not shy about eyeing his equipment, especially since his valve was dripping and pooling so much that a small bit was oozing over the edge of the seat.

Though Starscream might not have been as much of a slut as some seekers he met, fliers were notorious for berth hopping. A dripping valve was practically an invitation.

Starscream must have seen it as a moment of weakness, having never seen Megatron play with his equipment in all the time they had been in each other’s stressed company… thought he might have seen the member buried in the occasional femme he dragged back to headquarters to frag for a few nights.

Smile almost wicked, a glance shared with Skywarp whose wings seemed to be hitched in excitement. Starscream struggled not to laugh, his lips twitching as he huskily replied, “Well… we came in here hearing such pained noises. It sounded like a whines of a dying mech.”

Megatron glared, his hand now lazily placed over his fully erect spike. It was twitching against his palm, demanding that he resume his earlier activities. Skywarp was still looking at him, not daring to look away, Thundercracker just seemed flustered, glaring at his purple compatriot as if to say, ‘He’s our commander… stop staring at his valve!’.

Turning his glare away from the two seekers to the Air Command that had sauntered into the room with his clicking heals, almost lazily placing an arm on the back of the throne as he stared down at his warlord, still smiling. This was a moment of strength for Starscream, being far more sexually forward, and he was drinking it in. Loving the mockery of his master.

“It seems I was wrong… just a sexually deprived mech,” leaning forward and over his master slightly, letting his null rayed arm scrap in contact with Megatron’s, he dipped his finger down into the thin stream of lube on the throne before standing back up and allowing the gun-former to see him rubbing the lube between his fingers. Skywarp actually took a step forward.

Megatron actually threw a growl at the purple mech, who almost seemed to deflate.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” mocked Starscream with a sick satisfaction, never having truly embarrassed the proud Decepticon and drinking up that mech’s flush like water to sand. “It’s just such a tight little port and Skywarp has always had a thing for virgins or such-like ports. He can’t help but sta-“

The last word was barely even given time to echo over the room, the flier so close to his warlord’s audio that he was harshly grabbed by the throat and slammed to the ground. The Slag Maker was suddenly on top of his Air Command, pinning those arms on either side of his heads on top of the flier’s wings which made a painful screeching noise. Yet, the only things the vain seeker was worried about was those thighs on either side of his abdomen … Megatron’s rather large equipment was mere inches from his plating and that valve juice (now dripping down either side of his thighs) was threatening to fall on him.

Now twitching side to side, trying to ignore touching Megatron’s sticky thighs, Starscream growled, “Get off me or you’ll regret it.”

Grunting, pressing on those wings and wrists painfully, Megatron got an inch from his Air Commander’s face, the seeker pressing his chin up to try and get his face as far as he could away from leader. He did not… like this position. Looking over at his wing brothers, both wanting to do something but daring not taking a step closer, the seeker pressed his thighs together in worry. There were some war stories that Megatron raped mechs and femmes on the battlefield, but Starscream had never actually caught the gray mech performing or even extolling such an act from his fellow soldiers.

Raping a femme was frowned on, Megatron  had stated once, ‘ _What use are they now… one fragging and they are no longer any good’_.

Starscream didn’t praise such an ideal either, but the utter rage radiating from Megatron right now might push the powerful gun-former over the edge. And old bucket head seemed to notice his favorite seeker’s twitchy reaction to his positioning.  

Power over the situation now, Megatron actual smiled, fangs bared as he slowly leaned his head down, his spike barely brushing against the flier’s abdomen as the gray mech hissed in his second’s audio, “I could make you bleed like a little virgin … would you like that… would you like to howl under me like a slut.”

Starscream shivered in disgust, surprisingly keeping silent.

“Do you wish to make all those rumors that I only allow you to stay around is to keep my berth warm, true?” he snapped into his Second’s audio making the seeker whine.

After a moment of stillness, pre-cum and valve juice falling onto the Seeker’s abdomen, Starscream stayed so still that the only proof he was online was the hissing of his vents.

“WELL! DO YOU WANT TO BE MY PLEASURE MODEL?”

“N-no, Megatron…” he stated softly, optics meeting Megatron’s for a moment before the warlord let go.

He stood there, equipment shown proudly for any random mech walking by to witness, before he stated, “Get out of my sight.”

Thruster-heals wasting no time getting out, not even sparing a glance at the tall and proud gun-former, he departed, rage rippling down his form.

It wasn’t until they were a hall or two down, that the blue seeker suddenly spoke up as if scolding , “Did you really have to push him like that Starscream? What if he had done something with that… girth.”

Skywarp snorted.

“Yes, I had to,” he smiled, caring little that it made his face sting, “because I had to get under his plating.”

Thundercracker, the only true reasoning in the group, opened his mouth to speak again only to have Starscream turn around and show the fingers that he had dipped into valve juices, purring, “And because I doubt he’s leaking for just anyone.”

“… except for the Prime,” interjected Skywarp, chuckling at an old joke that ran around the base.

Ignoring the idiot on his team, Starscream continued, “And I think our dear Megatron has found something more than just his complacent berth partner. Dare I say, he might even love this one? Just not anyone makes Megatron moan like a whore.”

“… a fraggen tasty looking whore,” added Skywarp who was ignored again, Thundercracker butting in.

“The Slag Maker in love?”

“Or lust,” added Starscream nonchalantly. “Generally, I don’t care about matters of the spark, but I will crush Megatron… in one way or the other. I will see him suffer for disgracing me so many times.”

The mech then looked at his fingers in a disgusted manner and opened a sub space undoubtedly looking for a rag to wipe off the warlord’s juices, when Skywarp suddenly grabbed him by the wrists and brought those traitorous fingers to his lips. Starscream and Thundercracker both stared in horror and indignation as the purple seeker sucked off those drying juices like a hungry leach, slurpy noises included. Starscream was so shocked by the audacity of the other that he didn’t even have enough wits to pull his hand away until the other Con was down, Skywarp licking a fang as he added happily, “Not only a tight little port, but I knew he’d taste delicious.”

Starscream just stared at his oral fluid covering his hand in horror and Thundercracker looked like he was going to short out. Perhaps Skywarp was a little madder than then they both had thought… his dreams now of fragging Megatron.

“As a human would say, Warp,” added TC. “Gross.”

…

Recharge… had escaped him, yet Sunstreaker had remained so still the whole night one might have thought him deactivated.

He had spent all night feeling sick to his spark, his mind running around the idea of how he was going to get rid of this … mistake. He didn’t even want to think of what would happen if denying the sparkling didn’t offline it. He was sure there were other ways… more painful way… he could always take a well-aimed shot to the abdomen. Which, being his luck, Megatron had probably put a price on Sunstreaker’s head like he had for Ratchet many vorns ago.

It was a ‘no kill’ proclamation… usually for live execution or tactical information (Did Prowl have one as well?).

He hadn’t heard anything from Autobot intelligence yet though… so that seemed unlikely. Regardless, Primus would probably ‘protect’ his investment of a Carrying mech and every fraggen shot would always stray away from his body like an unwanted case of good luck.

Well, he could always just be forward about it. He could just walk up to the warlord in a fray and ask in all seriousness, ‘Hit me in the abdomen… right here, as hard as you can, now.’

Though… from that point forward it would probably have Megatron standing stupidly, asking, ‘What?’

‘I said fraggen hit me, slag eater!’

… ‘Why?’

So, it was easy to state that accidentally getting shot seemed unlikely and Megatron hitting him personally even seemed more unlikely. He could always just jump on Screamer’s back and take a fall though that was maybe a little to death defying. He might actually end up dead instead of miscarrying.

… Or saved, and Ratchet discovering the sparklet on board.

No, if he could bear this pain (his spark starting to jolt with every time he pressed the ‘dismiss’ for the acceptance) he wouldn’t have to find another way. Yet… human’s aborted safely… perhaps he could take some notes from them, but that was a conversation he did not want to have with Carly or Spike… it would start another Pro-choice/Pro-life campaign. He personally didn’t get it. Perhaps both sides should focus on ignoring unwanted pregnancies in the first place instead of fighting over who was right.

Tuh… now he sounded like a hypocrite, but really… he had never met a mech that was Heavy. He’d heard a few tales and that was why they had birthing cambers, but for him of all mechs… it was too surreal.

And those were the type of thoughts that plagued him until the lamp suddenly popped on, Hound trying to leave the room as silently as possible. Sunny just remained still, dulling his optics. He hoped that Hound wouldn’t go to Ratchet but there seemed no real reason for the tracker to do such a thing… he had kept the energon down, barely.

But… Sunny really wasn’t in the mood to go out on patrol. Well, maybe he could take a tumble, scare himself silly and cause his spark to be erratic and loose the sparking.

But, would it hurt?

Would it hurt to abort the little thing? He was an Autobot so he did value life, though he did want to end some peoples, but he also didn’t believe in stealing freedom from another being… himself.

Hand slowly being placed on his chassis, Sunstreaker made a vow that if the sire had been anyone else he might have been able to keep it, spare it.

Pit, part of him wondered if he could just desert for a few months and bare it in some neutral colony, but he wasn’t so naïve. Carrie sparklings were rare as it was with so few femmes… a male Carrier would not be something that would be an easily kept secret. Finding a medic that knew how to properly deal with it would be even harder.

No, it had to go. Besides, if it were to be born it would be nothing but a pariah… a freak. Would he or she have blue optics and be a gun-former or have wings? He had no idea if Megatron had the coding for wings, true, but flight was mostly a Deception thing. And what about his Autobot coding? Even though in functionality their peoples were practically the same, yet his ideals would be partially inherited as well. How could they expect a sparking to chose between Autobot and Decepticon ideals? Could it? Or would the sparkling’s personality splinter and he’d end up with three spinning faces with three differing opinions? Would the sparklet be so unstable that his systems would be diseased with constant glitches?

He had never heard of a Con and Autobot breeding. Building a frame together and getting a spark was something completely different… a Carried mech or femme’s spark and systems were based entirely off their creators’ own codes.

Frag, would it even survive the birthing? Would it have half a face? Or would it be missing arm or have the inability to take an alt form since it was a mess of limbs and gun-parts?

Curling into a tight ball in horror, decision made for both him and the poorly sired sparkling, Sunstreaker wept. He could never recall crying so hard, his systems slowly falling into stasis to block out the world of the living with nothing but dreams of crystal-like sand and a chuckling Megatron with a smaller mech at his heals; the youngling smiling up at the warm sun.

It had been tepid in his dreams, warm and placid, which was why the world hurt so much when he was pulled from that dream, his spark thrashing in his casing when he was cruelly waken up by a ping of demand from a commanding officer.

Sunsteaker slowly sat on his berth, watching his hand’s shake as he check the time. He had recharged half the day away, past his first shift and it was still there. A melancholy of such a false world dripping into nothingness, Sunny watched the message for acceptance blinking almost non-stop now, barely even being affected by the delay he kept placing on it. His HUD had also moved it up in level of important as well, next to his spark activity and his energon levels. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say even if he could ask for help.

Who would he ask anyway? Megatron? That was laughable. The slagger liked him for a good frag, a comfort or merely physical and embrace and pretty words, but … was there anything else there? And of the Autobots? His brother was out of the question, the betrayal still too raw, and Ratchet would kill him and then want to know who the daddy was. Best case scenario with that would be him being sent back to Cybertron like some kind of exile, the question and investigation of the daddy imminent.

There was no hope to be asked for. All he could do was sit there on his berth in the dark. He wanted to cry out to his brother’s spark and have him come and tell him his HUD was lying to him, that it was a bad dream. He had just woken up. He had to be a dream. It had to be.

Suddenly there was a pounding on his door and the mech jump, choking a whimper back as he looked at the door. Had Sideswipe felt his spark’s panicking all through the night? Would he tell him that it was –

“Sunstreaker, report,” said a voice from behind the door. “You are late for guard duty.”

A soft whine escaped the yellow mech as he wrapped his arm over his chassis. He didn’t want to go out right now. He wanted to hide. If he went out there, the world would see and – and they would –

“Sunstreaker. open up or I will open the door. If you are still feeling ill, as Hound kindly informed me when you didn’t show up for your first shift, you should go to Ratchet for a proper diagnosis and not scuff on your duties.”

It was a wonder, perhaps, why Sunny rose to his feet, but he didn’t question it as he opened the door and glared at the tactician before him.

Prowl’s wings twitched as he stared at the figure before him. He looked Sunstreaker up and down; probably noting how Sunny wasn’t meeting is optics.

“Was it bad energon or is your system trying to purge a virus?” he asked calmly, thinking the other did look rather tired and slightly shaken up as if he had just been pulled out of a restless recharge.

Sunny shivered at the thought. It was almost truthful as he stated, “I’m trying to purge a pest, sir. My systems are aware of it. It shouldn’t cause me much more trouble.”

Prowl’s form softened slightly, less stern. It almost caused front-liner to jump back in surprise when Prowl placed a hand over one of the vents on Sunny’s shoulder, spreading his fingers. The higher officer gave him the glare of ‘don’t move’ and despite how awkward it was for Sunstreaker, the Second in Command, pulled his hand away, nodding, “Well, you are running a little bit hot, nothing dangerous. Has your systems tried to force any of today’s rations out of your tank?”

Maybe if I had actually consumed today’s rations, thought Sunstreaker before shaking his head. No.

Prowl’s face was still stern as he asked in a clipped tone, “Have you had any of today’s rations?”

Sunny flinched, wanting to get in the other’s face but knowing that a forced trip to Ratchet would be his punishment, he gave a half-truth, “I’ve had some low grade.”

Prowl nodded, stating in almost a tired tone, “Well, will you be able to perform today for regular duty or will I have to place you back on light duty and send you to Ratchet’s care?”

Trying not to flinch as he denied the request again on his HUD, his spark thrashing painfully for a moment, Sunny nodded his head, wanting to be anywhere but near the medic who would see a flinch for what it was, Sunny growled feeling threatened, “I can perform, Prowl. Stop treating me like a prissy little virgin.”

Prowl stiffened but did not outright punish the mech for his sour mood, knowing far too well how a virus would treat a soldier, “No need to be vulgar, Sunstreaker. I could punish you for talking to a superior officer in such a tone, but I know yours systems are probably aching.”

Sunny twitched at the rare kindness from the Second in Command, but clipped his sharp tongue down with his teeth regardless.

“So, go get a cube of energon and report to the main entrance for duty with Hound. Trailbreaker kindly covered your earlier shift so you shall now be taking his. Do you mind working with Hound?” asked Prowl, a question within a question.

In truth, Prowl probably wanted to know if the two of them were compatible roommates.

Looking up with dull, tired optics, Sunny stated, “He’s fine.”

Nodding in agreement, his wings dropping in what must have been relief for Prowl, the officer stated, “That is good to know. Now… is there anything else?”

Blinking his optics, finally realizing how hard Prowl was trying to be comforting, Sunstreaker asked, “What do you mean by that?”

There was a moment of stillness, sand settling to the floor, Prowl frowning lightly before his optics became soft and he replied, “You seem… troubled.”

Feeling as if his spark had just been exposed, Sunny stood up straight, hiding the physical and emotional pain in his spark, replying, “I just got very little recharge last night… I’m fine.”

_… If only one could will wishes into being._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laughs. Skywarp was just too much fun in this chapter and its good to know that so many of you saw the sparklet coming. I must have had too much foreshadowing on my part. Regardless, don’t any of you expect this to be the normal, he’s knocked up story. Nope, babies make everything harder… and angsty. Mmmm. Like sugar to your Authoress it is. I haven’t yet decided if he loses it though… that’s a ways away. The ending would still be the same. I’m just glad I got the sparklet thing out there already. I’ve had nearly whole chapter-long scenes about the horrors of an unwanted child ready which explains this quick update. So that should be fun… Yes, I know I’m a sadist.


	11. Messages

 

Sideswipe stalled, barely even noticing that Red Alert’s cameras were following him down the hall like a buzzard. Slowly, not even noting Jazz stalling next to him, he rubbed his chassis. It had been hurting like this all day… through the bond. It wasn’t painful or frightening, he just couldn’t identify it. It was as if Sunny needed something and his part of the bond was scolding him by aching as much as it could… and the more the day went on the more it hurt.

Yet, after giving Jazz the puppy-dog pout, the saboteur confirmed that Sunny was fine on patrol with Hound. He didn’t give an exact location, of course, but it was enough for him not to panic over the soft ache. Whatever it was, Sunny had boarded up the bond tighter than usual, faultering at strange moments only to slam the bond shut so tightly it hurt.

Was his brother trying to hide something?

A lover perhaps? Had Sunstreaker found a good mech stabilize his spark? He didn’t know if he wanted to weep or smile at the thought. Maybe… he had just been rough the first time.

Regardless, Sunstreaker was hiding something and Sideswipe wanted to know who or what it was… though how he was going to do it without talking to his twin was going to be somewhat challenging. Looking to his side, Sides had his answer almost immediately. Jazz was a gossip after all and conveniently right next to him. Who said he had to talk to his brother at all to figure out what was going on?

“Hey, Jazz,” stated Sideswipe. “Tell me… you notice anything strange about my brother? I can’t ask him myself after all… and a brother worries.”

…

It has been somewhat _unsettling_ , to state it lightly, to have his spark suddenly speed up and seize. For a moment Sunstreaker thought he was about to offline and fall gray onto the ground. In actuality, he just swerved and veered into a nearby field where he remained shaking for a few moments.

Sitting in the tall grass, engine idling, the Autobot was sure that his spark was about to extinguish itself in a flurry as he rejected the sparklet once more.

It had been even more frightening when he heard a chuckle at his expense. Though it was probably over the crash more than his dire situation. It has been a poorly executed crash… the human corn in his grill wasn’t helping. Quickly transforming, Sunstreaker’s optics burned with the fury of the pit. He cared little that his body was still recovering from the shock of having his spark jerk so harshly… he was going to kill Hound.

The green mech he had been on patrol with had been highly bearably as of late, he didn’t even question why Sunstreaker was unaccustomedly slow. It wasn’t the first time they had rounds together and it was a well known fact that Sunstreaker always left mech’s in the dust with his high powered engine, but his spark with its sharp jabs made driving somewhat difficult… high speeding driving might be deadly.

Regardless, even knocked up as humans would state, he wasn’t a mech to just stand there and take mocking. No, he might have been technically Heavy, but he wasn’t going to be taking anyone’s mouth.

Turning in the direction of the mocker and stalled, engine whining. There was no one there, no Hound in sight. The mech was probably up the road, not even noticing he was in the ditch.

Raising a brown in confusion, the frontliner half wondered if he was going mad from all the stress, but that did not seem to be the case because there was another chuckle. Sunstreaker immediately turned his gaze to the corn field, images of horror movie night with Spike coming into mind. Was this going to turning into Children of the Corn or what?

“Whose there?” he finally whispered, trying to keep his voice even.

There was a ping and the mech jumped, drawing his gun from his subspace as he looked around wildly until he heard the ping again. He didn’t recognize it as Hound’s comm. but most likely, the green mech was still wondering where he had gotten off to. Idiot.

Answering the comm, Sunstreaker replied, “Hound… sorry, a deer jumped…”

“I saw no deer neither do I smell one nearby,” came a mental reply, no voice, only text accompanying over the comm.

Sunstreaker immediately went stiff, pressing the button on his hem almost harshly as he looked around angrily, “Who is this?”

“Just the messenger… now put away the gun or you’ll be getting nothing from me,” replied the other, purring almost.

Thinking it was strange that the person had purred instead of speaking, a thought hit him, his optics going wide as something occurred to him. Who would be sending him a message that could purr and smell that well? He immediacy looked up and stared in shock. Up in the tree, lazily perched was none other than Ravage. She was grinning rather wickedly like that strange like that cat in that Alice movie.

He was half tempted to shoot her but she quickly reminded him, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Slowly, taking heed, Sunstreaker lowered the gun, all of his instincts roaring at him, but them again Ravage had seen him being well … _ravaged_ … on the battlefield the other day by Megatron so it was unlikely she would attack him or have any intention of doing such.

She didn’t want to break her Master’s toys, did she?

“What do you want?”

She chuckled, metal teeth glinting, “To erase the image of you fragging Megatron from my data memories… but that’s not going to happen. So, I’m here with a message.”

His spark skipped, for a moment hope and horror clashing together like an iceberg having met a lava flow. Half of him wondered if Megatron had found out about the sparklet and was going to offer to have it painlessly extinguished so no one would have to know or was about to demand he come to the base and act like a good little Carrier.

Yet, Ravage’s chuckling banished such thoughts as she pinged, “You seem torn between horror and bliss. I’ve heard of difficult relationships but you take the oil-cake…”

Sunny nodded, stepping into the shade of the tree and looking up at her, stating, “Like you said… its complicated.”

She twitched her stubby tail, adding, “Don’t I know it… regardless, my lord wishes to see you.”

“You mean frag me?” he asked, his valve clenching at the thought and his hand unknowingly rising to his chassis above his spark.

Ravage was silent for a moment as he observed the bot below her. He was strange. He didn’t seem displayed by the message and the Autobot even _smelled_ strange. She knew this smell… she had smelled it only a few times. Soundwave had had that smell once or twice, but she could not recall…

“I take your silence as a ‘yes’,” stated the young mech, his hand moving away from his chassis as he added, “And I’d very much … like to see him again… but right now I have something to deal with. Give me a few solar days. Is there a comm. link or something for I can get in contact with and … not arise suspicion?”

The cat-former almost smiled, and then there was a ping. Was this a human frequency?

Smiling slightly, a small warmth now in his chest at the prospect of Megatron’s attention in more than a physical manner, Sunstreaker gave the cassette a coy grin as he murmured, “Tell your Master he will be getting a naughty call. I’ve heard of this thing the human do. It’s call phone sex… he is going to be my first text subject.”

Loving the horrified expression that came over the cat-formers face, the cassette nodded and then jumped off into the grass, leaving the sunny Autobot almost pleasantly happy until there was another jolt in his chest and a few moments later worried Hound by his side as Sunstreaker crawled out of the ditch.

“You okay, Sunstreaker? I noticed you weren’t behind me a few minutes ago. Sorry I didn’t notice sooner that you decided to go off roadin’,” said the worried mech as he offered a helping hand out of the ditch, surprise on his face when Sunny took it, rubbing his chassis. “Should I call Ratchet? Did you hurt your undercarriage in the brush?”

Sick at the prospect of Ratchet’s hands, the sunny colored character shook his head and added quickly, “No, no. Just a little … dented. A _cat_ jumped out on the road and I went into the ditch.”

His spark jerked again and he almost doubled over, Hound quick to grab and steady him. Sunstreaker was quickier to pull away though, knowing that worried gaze in the jeep’s optics as Sunny shook his hand dismissively, thinking up a lie that would keep Ratchet away, “Mm-my tank… is still hurting something terrible. I’m tired of being mother hened by the old harpie though, Hound. Let’s just get this over with so I can go back into reacharge and get rid of this parasite.”

Hound nodded, “So it was a bug then. What kind of bug is it?”

“The kind my system is aware of,” the frontliner growled as he struggled onto the road, feeling like collapsing as a rather strong wave hit him.

Frag, it was getting faster.

“B-but it shouldn’t take my systems long to purge it. Let’s just get this over with,” he added, transforming, not knowing just how unbearably painful the rest of the route would be since it was a few hundred miles long and all.

Meanwhile, in the grasses of the crash site, a metal cat walked forward, smoothly, turning on her comm. link, “Soundwave, are you there?”

“Affirmative: mission successful?”

“Yeah… he got the number,” replied the small Con, still feeling something was wrong as she added, “And he seemed happy, too happy to have it, and then there was this smell.”

“Smell: more information required,” added the elder mech over the line.

The cat-former sighed, knowing she should have kept it to herself. She knew the smell, knew it so well, but for some reason she couldn’t recall what it was. She knew Soundwave would expect her to, but she didn’t recall as many insignificant details like Soundwave did… especially during the beginning of the war.

Yes, that was the last time she had smelled it.

So it wasn’t for earth.

Not a lot to go on.

Twitching the stub of her tail, she replied, “Sorry, I don’t know, but I know I should. It is familiar, but I haven’t smelled it in a long time, around the beginning of the war perhaps?”

There was silence on the other end until the monotone voice, though it was more the mask then his voice that was actually monotones though few knew that, replied, “Dwell on scent. Inquiry: emotion of happiness, false or true? Could the Autobot have been acting, creating a trap for Megatron?”

Ears going flat against the cassette’s head, she replied, “He seemed troubled but cheered up after hearing Megatron wanted him… something about phone sex, whatever that is. I am uncertain.”

“Mission: follow Autobot Sunstreaker. See if he is type of spy and … if you know that scent,” added the mech before the line went dead.

Groaning, knowing she would have to run to get there before the Autobot, the cassette started off, wondering how long it would take to find a way into the Autobot base this time. Last time, Blaster and his cassettes had become really paranoid and blocked off anything entrances they could, but that wouldn’t stop Ravage.

She hadn’t survived this long war because she was stupid.

A little forgetful of peaceful days, perhaps, but anything but stupid.

…

Sunstreaker tried not to scream as he transformed at the Ark’s entrance, their route over. He had thought it would never end… the mission nor the pain in his chest. True, the mission was over now, but the pain… it wasn’t over.

It was worse, his spark actually burned and once in a while it would seize painfully.

If he hadn’t turned off his vocals, his screams would have echoed all the way to the base.

Luckily, Hound had been ahead and hadn’t noticed Sunstreaker’s drifting during such episodes nor how he had pulled to the side once to empty the contents of his tank. It was taking all the self-control he owned to be walking straight instead of keening over in pain with and hand on his chassis.

His system had almost forced the acceptance twice already and he had to get to his room to have another painful battle before he passed out.

Nodding to Cliffjumper who was stuck with sentry duty, the yellow mech took one step forward into the base … and almost collapsed there at the entrance way on his knees. The pain had just growing tenfold, no longer coming like contractions, but now constant. If felt like his spark was starting to split and it was as wonder how he had been able to hide the pain from his brother’s side of the spark this long. Perhaps it was because his brother was now to busy thrusting his spark into that gray, slutty Dustan. A small growl escaped Sunstreaker at the thought in exchange of a whimper or scream. He was in pain, but his loathing was stronger. His hate of the gunner and his abandoning brother could probably drag him to his room before he collapsed into a heap of agony on the floor.

Pit, he wouldn’t even be in this mess if his brother hadn’t abandoned him… again.

“Sunstreaker. Wait up.”

Or he might collapse here.

 A frown hung heavily on Hound’s face as he stepped into Sunstreaker’s path, after having given Cliffjumper their report. True, Hound knew it was unwise to step into the frontliner’s trail, but something was seriously wrong with the yellow twin and as the mech’s new roommate, the tracker felt responsible. Whatever was going on, it was not just a tank ache. Despite the crash, Sunstreaker also hadn’t been silent in his usual ‘ hate the world way’ but more like he was afraid to open his mouth. It was as if he had been holding back screams towards the end of their route. Painful screams by the way his fingers were now twitching and the way his lips tugged painfully at his face.

Hound was also not blind to the fact that Sunstreaker had pulled over and transformed once to empty his tank as well. True, the green mech understood a sick mech had no want for speed, so he didn’t question Sunstreaker’s pace but now his sensors, his gut as Spike referred to it once, was telling him something wrong. And even if this was a tank ache, it was something really nasty and Hound didn’t want to come back from his game time with Mirage and Trailbreaker to find Sunstreaker offline in their room.

Not that the twin seemed thankful for his concern.

“What?” said Sunstreaker more in a croak than in a real threat.

“I-I, well, yah didn’t seem well today, even before the crash. Are you sure feeling alrigh’? Yah need someone to talk to, i-if that’s what’s wrong, or help to the medical bay? You’rh not looking much better from last night and I don’t think recharging with fix it,” continued Hound, his worry only growing as he watched the mech’s optics twitch in setting; never a good sign.

Sunstreaker tried to keep his surprise buried. He had thought he had hidden the pain well enough … but it wasn’t the first time he was wrong. He had been wrong about his brother after all. A sadness of an abandoned bond now welling up with the sparkling pain already radiating thought his spark like a rapidly spreading fungus.

Knowing he didn’t trust his vocals or his legs right now, Sunstreaker decided to do the next best thing, retreat. Pushing passed Hound, only one destination in mind, he waved a hand at Hound as if saying, ‘Don’t worry’ as he kept his legs straight. He only wanted one thing right now, a cold dark corner in his room so he could suffer through this until it would pass, until he would become numb. That’s what spark pain did. It would sting so badly one would wish they could die and then it would slowly turn into a dull ache, like Sideswipe. This would pass and be nothing more than a dull pain to haunt him.

At least he hoped it would pass. The warnings had been growing ever more frequent on his HUD. So much so that they were starting to litter his system, demanding acceptance, trying to force it. He wouldn’t allow it though. The sparkling w-was wrong. There was no way he could keep it.

Shutting the door to his room and locking it, he allowed himself to fall to his knees as he squeezed his middle, whispering, “Please die little one. Please just die.”

…

Ravage was nearly soundless as she made her way through the venting systems. It sometimes amazed her how it was so easy to get into them. Yes, the Autobot cassettes had block off the ones they could find… but this was a side of a mountain. There were so many ways in.

She didn’t know if this Autobot sex toy was a good or bad thing. True, Megatron, though highly sexually tense lately, was less volatile to his own soldiers and far more level headed when it came to planning and preparing for the future. He had actually started to think of an end to this war. She heard that Megatron had been contacting Shockwave asking for planets with materials needed to revive their home. It was still young in it’s thought processes, but she was sure it had to do with the little sun colored bot. Then again, if this relationship was a rouse and the Autobot was playing him merely to entrap the warlord… well, the few weeks that would follow would be pit on earth.

But, whatever the consequence, all Soundwave knew was what had happened in the battlefield days ago with the yellow Autobot was not meant to be a onetime thing.

Not that their lord didn’t deserve a tight little valve, but if Sunstreaker was folly in any of his expressions of love… though she doubt it real love… she would end the Autobot in his recharge tonight. Megatron would never know how he died.

Slowly, she stalked through the vents until finally she found herself looking down the shaft. It had smelled like the yellow mech, without the pungent musk that she had smelled earlier today, but it was not Sunstreaker. It was a red mech. The twin if she recalled correctly, and he was currently riding a pretty little thing.

“S-sideswipe! Make my valve come. Make me come!” cried a little grey Dutsen and it clung to his lover, riding that aft into the berth side.

The cat just shook her head. This is what the down time on earth had reduced every mech to… deprived sex fiends. She had noticed it in the Nemesis as well, pairs were popping up. Not that she blamed anyone. The death toll on earth had been severely limited compared to that of Cybertron. It gave mech’s time to be bored and bored led to hobbies… of all kinds.

Stalling, the cassette grinned to herself. There was that smell, that heavy musk that smelled like electricity and nanites, but not in the way interfacing did. It was old and _stale_ wasn’t the word, it was old and new at the same time.

It would irritate her to no end if she couldn’t figure out what that smell reminded her of.

Following her nose, she soon found herself looking downward into a large room, a berth on each side, a single lamp lit and a … shaking mech in the corner. She sat down on her hunches and watched in confusion. Well, at least he wasn’t reporting his false relationship to Optimus Prime or that sour mech, Prowl, but why was he just huddled in a corner… shaking. No, he was thrashing, shivering, arching. This mech was in pain, serious internal pain.

He didn’t smell exactly like death though.

Why hadn’t he gone to a medic yet?

The mech arch painfully, his mouth opened in what would have probably been a scream, but since whimpers weren’t even escaping the yellow mech, his vocals were probably off.

Slowly sinking down against the wall, vents panting, the yellow mech dimmed his optics and panted, vocals coming on strained as if he had been screaming, “Please primus… just die little one. I don’t want you. I … cant … uhhh!”

The mech arched again, this time a gurgled scream escaping him, fluids spurting from his mouth before he collapsed again, whining in his throat as he placed a hand against his chassis almost denting it as he pressed firmly.

The cat-former blinked in surprise, realization hitting her like a freight train as to what the smell was.

Little one … holding his chassis… smell of old nanites.

The slagger was _heavy_ and recently from the looks of it, the sparkling trying to drop down into the carrying chamber to start the building of its spark casing and body. And from the looks of it, Sunstreaker had no plans of being a parent.

Not that she blamed him… this was a war they were in despite the lax battles of late.

Deciding that she didn’t want her Master’s pet to offline so pathetically, she brought out a claw and started opening the vent.

Sunny nearly bulked a moment later when something thumped on his berth. For a sickening moment, he even thought it was his brother now sitting down on his berth, about to ask him if he needed to be carried to the med bay like a sick little bot. Yet, as Sunny sat up to protest he was fine, vertigo took over his systems, his optics going white as his battle systems tried to turn on to give him extra strength.

Unfortunately, the pain and vertigo was too much and the frontliner fell back against the corner he was in, optics going offline for a frightening minute or so until he was able to online his optics by force of will alone. He immediately shivered, more from the surprise of seeing two red optics glaring at him from a perch on his berth than from the pain.

“What are you doing here, Decpeti-brat. Don’t you have to go and report back to Soundwave I got Megatron’s message,” he choked, noticing for the first time… his limbs were going numb and he was losing system relays to certain parts of his limbs.

The cat-former sat there a moment and then cocked her head as she replied over the comms, “Oh, not much… just watching you offline.”

Sunstreaker shivered, “I’m not dying… its just a bug, a parasite my system is trying to rid.”

The cat former chuckled with her vocals before replying, over the comm, “Yes, parasite. Not a very Autobot way to refer to a sparkling though a Con would. Are you sure you are not a Decepticon.”

“Frag off,” barked Sunny, shivering. “I’m dealing with it.”

“How? By offlining? You de realize the dropping of a sparkling is not voluntary. It’s just informing you so that you know you are sparked. Denying it will only cause your spark to overheat and offline,” said the cat-former as she lay down on the berth lazily as if this wasn’t a worry of hers. “Quite a nasty way to offline… if you don’t cry out for help first. And, you being on the Primes side whom is more than aware of our species fading population… you’d have to keep it.”

Sunstreaker spasmed and shook his head, “No. No! I don’t want it to marked me as a traitor! They’ll know I slept with Megatron and then I’ll be marked as a slut-traitor and … and I hate my brother, but I …”

Ravage pretended Sunstreaker hadn’t just hinted it was Megatron’s sparkling, and murmured, “It was probably your brother’s because if it was Megatron… he’ll kill you himself to keep it quiet.”

Shaking, Sunny took the hint and nodded his head. He didn’t want Megatron knowing anyway… it was something that needed to go!

“Good, now just accept it. No one will notice at first and Soundwave, given his experience, will know how to get rid of it. Megatron doesn’t want baggage,” rumbled the cat-former as she rose to her feet and squatted for the jump up to the vent. “Be seeing you sex toy.”

She was the gone… leaving Sunny with a decision or lack of one actually.

It was then, bawling like a little baby with his legs pulled into his chest, that Sunstreaker hit the accept option and the seizing stopped immediately, his whole body feeling warm as a little ball of heat traveled down and finally into his carrying camber. His whole body then felt warm, as if thanking him for allowing it acceptance.

That night, Sunstreaker stayed in the shower, weeping as the freezing water fell down on him. He knew Hound had heard him when he finally came back, but yet again he said nothing. Though, when Sunny woke in the morning he found the shower had been turned off and a cube of light grade had been left at his side. He might have been thankful if a part of him didn’t know that a percentage of that energon was going to sparkling that was now firmly nestled in his abdomen, making itself a body.

…

Blaster sat in the control room, staring at a screen aimlessly until he was touched on the shoulder. He quickly put on a smile and turned to face Jazz.

“Yo, bro, what’s up?”

Jazz lazed in the chair for a moment before he turned to the other, “Well, I wanted to ask about some rumors… after business of course. OP is mighty worried. Its been too long since we’ve heard a peep out of old Meg’s. Yeah, he’s been a silent snake before, get me, but something just seems off. So, we need to send in a spy… haven’t decided who… Mirage is the best bet with his invisible man get up, but one of your little guys might be in the lime light this time. Either way, we are having meeting later today.”

Nodding, the boom box stated, “Yeah, I get yah. Old Meg’s was real pissed last time on the field… almost ripped off Prime’s arm. He was might angry, stating he was interruptin’ or something.”

“He was just mad he never got to do in old Sunny; idiot kid. I’d have had ‘im in the brig for that, but Ratchet’s dealing with it,” he stated. It was not a well kept secret but Prime was still absolutely fuming about the last battle in the silent reclusive way that he did… and it wasn’t about the arm. Sunstreaker was slowly becoming a liability.

Blaster nodded, taking on a sad expression, “You think he might be sent to Ultra Magnus’s team? Its just that lately… maybe’h there’s something about the second born curse.”

Frowning, Jazz stated, “I don’ believe in curses, that’s a human thing Blaster, but in the end its old Hatchet’s decision… just like Prime promised him, but you are right… if ratchet can’t do anything… Sideswipe might end up being the lonely brother.”

“Yeah… separating twins can’t be such … tragedy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, a treat just for you babes and my poor story’s abuse on FF.net. Regardless, I just wrote a steamy, steamy scene from chapter 13 and 14, so hopefully I can write all the inbetween scenes for all of your soon so we can get a little smut. :3


	12. Simple Sorrows

 

Sunny pulled his knees into his chassis again and listened to the drip drop of water falling from the shower head.

It might have driven any other mech mad but it was the only thing that kept him sane right now. The dripping was predictable, constant, so unlike his life had been recently. What was he going to do? He was … Heavy. He had been Heavy days before, sure, but now it was real. There was no way to wish it away or pray it would fade.

He was the cursed half after all.

Sighing, he hit the ignore button for his tanks again. He had lost almost everything in his tank before his route and then had done the entire route, loosing what little low grade he had taken in and now … the cube was still full at his side.

The thought of ingesting anything and it going to the sparklings growth make him want to lose his tank all over again.

Not that there was anything in there. He was running on reserve right now.

Offlining his optics, Sunstreaker ignored the pings but Prowl, asking where he was. He had security duty this afternoon.

…

Elsewhere, Soundwave watched as a grumpy looking Ravage flaunted her way into his quarters, the door sliding shut behind the cassette.

Not even looking up from his digi-pad, the blue mech asked, “Inquiry: why did you not report before returning to base.”

“For one, I’m tired, and disgusted… I made the mistake of looking what phone sex was,” growled the femme over the comm, squatting down before she finally leapt up onto the berth, laying down there as if to lounge.

Then, having looked around the room to make sure someone loud mouthed like Frenzy and Rumble wasn’t around, she added, “We have a problem.”

Having gained her creator’s attention, he turned his head to his older creation, visor aglow, “… What kind of problem.”

Laying her head on her crossed paws, as if still relaxing, she added, “That smell… let’s say it’s been pretty popular with you… when you were heavy.”

Putting the pad down, the Communication Officer stated, “I see? Deactivation of mech required?”

Shaking her head, she purred through their bond, “He just needs notes on how to get rid of an unwanted pest. Be it Megatron’s or not.”

…

Back at Autobot headquarters, Ratchet slapped Ironhide on the back of the head before telling him to get out. Then, nodding to his trainee, he stated, “Swoop, I’m going to my office for a little bit. You mind watching over the medical bay?”

The large Dinobot nodded and went back to cleaning off some of the medical tools that had been recently used. The elder medic tried not to smile as he looked at the youth… it seemed that since the lesson with Sunstreaker’s valve, the large mech had taken serious interest in his own valve. He had even caught the youth, completely by accident, dipping his fingers deep into his valve, whimpering. Swoop probably was pressing  against one of the seals deep inside, his fingers were certainly long enough, but he was uncertain about breaking it.

That’s what thick spikes were for anyway.

The healer couldn’t help but wonder who would take the youth’s first time. Of course, if asked, Ratchet would do it for him, being professional and experienced in the matter, but he seriously hoped that the flier asked someone a little more in size range to fill up that large valve… Skyfire would be gentle.

Yet, despite his trainee’s growth in the matters of living, he was worried about one mech that wasn’t acting like he was living.

Sunstreaker had become rather reclusive in the last two or three days, more than usual. There was even a rumor going around that the sun colored mech might be ill and that Hound was grabbing his shifts, though apparently the idiot hadn’t thought it was bad enough to come to see him about it.

Not that it mattered. Either way the front-liner was subject to his mercies being that he had sessions every Friday and that was coming up today. So, if Sunny was really ill, he’d take care of it then, if he was just depressed and moping… well, he’d try to take care of it then as well.

Unless Sunstreaker tried to skip out which would bring down all-fury from Ratchet. For one, besides his reclusive behavior of late, the healer was rather interested in what Hound had said the other day.

It still bothered him. Why was Sunstreaker speaking of Megatron? And from the recording he had gotten from Hound’s databanks, it seemed anything but pained. The front-liner even raised an arm once and almost begged that name, the rest of the words lost to wheezing and heavy vents… and he been aroused?

Well, Megatron probably would make a hot wet fantasy with his large frame and dominating persona, but this seemed something more. In fact, it always led him back to the thought of that ripped valve. There were a lot of large mechs in the Con’s ranks. Could one of them…

… No, no. Sunstreaker was a loyal Autobot, believed in his cause though he was a little rough around the edges. He would have never willing slept with a Con for that matter let one rip him up like that.

Yet, there was the desert. He had been beaten and his only interest when he came back was not repairs, not even slagging his brother. Sunstreaker had wanted to be clean. He had wanted to wash something away. And the battlefield… Sunny had rushed onto the field as if he had been looking for revenge. Looking to hurt the warlord specifically only to end up having his scream echo over the field.

Who knew exactly what Megatron did in that time when Sunstreaker was behind enemy lines.

Ratchet stalled, nearly dropping his tool, as dark little puzzle pieces started falling together.

He immediately shook such thoughts off.

No, no. If something like that would have happened, Sunstreaker would have told him.

Unless… he was _ashamed_.

Chiding himself for such thoughts, he refused to think of it again, but … maybe he would press in their sessions. He had had more than one raped mech in his days, far more popular in the earlier years with younger mechs than now, the rapers killed by vengeful lovers or siblings, but mech’s… especially in down time grew bored. Bored mechs, especially Cons, were dangerous.

Time passed quickly for the medic as the day went on, but his worries of Sunstreaker being raped did not pass, especially when he heard Hound came into the bay, looking worn and tired, Swoop immediately directing him to a berth and giving him a cube of high grade with metal infusions before even asking what was wrong.

Not that the younger trainee even got a chance, curiosity driving the medic out of his office, “Will you finish cleaning the parts I was organizing, Swoop. I’ll take Hound.”

Nodding his large head, the dino-bot headed towards the large sink were parts were being recycled and cleaned, placed back into the inventory. It was technically a form of cannibalization, as Ratchet recalled his disgust in the first few years of war, but recycling dead and living mech’s unneeded or partially damaged parts had become a necessity… even in calm times. Never knew when one would run out of a good joint-ball.

The green mech, who was staring at the cube, finally looked up and asked the ambulance, “Do I look that bad?”

“Yes, your paint currently looks like a pale mint color than the usual forest green,” said the healer in a slight hint of humor before he became more serious. “Drink it, _now_ , before you fall over.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Hound did just that, nearly gagging with how thick the energon was with metal and metal-flesh replacements. It was not a satisfying cube, slimy strings going down his throat, the green mech nearly gagging twice as Ratchet patted him on the shoulder, “Yep, drink it all at once and get it over with.”

Finally finishing, a thin film of slim still in the bottom of the cube, Hound grumbled, “Ugh… my tank is going to regurgitate this. I-it is so nasty. Oh… so nasty. Ugh… I’m going to…”

“Head back,” murmured the medic as if this reaction was nothing new, helping the mech tilt his head back as he placed his hand over the other mech’s mouth, stating, “It is worse coming out. Just choke it down.”

A few choking noises later, Hound finally titled his head back and gave his medic a pathetic look, “Isn’t that for carriers and mech’s that have been starving for a few vorns.”

Ratchet nodded, slapping the green mech in the back of the head now that he knew he wasn’t going to fall off the berth, “Yes, and idiots apparently. How many extra shifts have you been taking?”

The green mech looked down trodden as he admitted, “Too many.”

“And for who?” asked the healer, already knowing.

Seeming to sink back, not liking that Ratchet was picking up a wrench and were this was likely going, “Sunstreaker.”

“And why?”

Bitting a metal lip component, shrinking down as if preparing to be hit, he whispered, “Because … he hasn’t been feeling well.”

An optic twitched as the medic continued, “And why didn’t you tell Prowl or send him to me?”

Scrunching up as much as he could, Hound whispered, “He asked me not to, he just wanted to rest.”

The medic nodded, stating, “Ah, I see.”

There was a moment of stillness and for a minute Hound unscrunched his shoulders thinking there wasn’t going to be a punishment for his stupidity, but then … wham!

“Ouch!” cried Hound as he grabbed the side of his helm where the Hatchet had just slapped him with his wrench, which was not a regular occurrence for the tracker.

“I’m used to doing this to Sideswipe when it comes to his brother, but you are his roommate for a few days and bam, you are an idiot as well!” barked the medic. “If he’s sick, especially if it’s been a few days, you tell me! It might be a virus that’s tricking his systems!”

Hound rubbed his helm, murmuring, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s that… it’s just a little tank sickness. He’s been having trouble keeping it down.”

Ratchet looked worried now, asking, “That is really serious, Hound. That sounds like a nasty virus. Has he been able to intake anything.”

Looking away, Hound muttered, “Just low grade and he said it was parasite as well… but… the way he said it and has been acting…”

The tracker sighed, “He’s been crying in the shower, Ratchet. It felt too … personal … to call up the Calvary, yah got me, Ratchet.”

Letting out a gust of air from his vents, the medic nodded, “I understand. It might be emotional. Regardless, please inform me if it gets bad enough that he can’t keep anything down in the future, will you?”

Hound nodded at the medic, glad he wasn’t being hit again, stating, “So… what did you come in here for anyway beside the obvious exhaustion? Have you been having trouble recharging?”

The green mech shook his head, “No… I was actually coming to tell you about Sunstreaker.”

For a moment the medic seemed surprised and a little bit embarrassed, “Oh… well, sorry about the wrench then. Nonetheless, I’m making you take some mandatory R and R. Take the next three day cycles to recharge and refuel and relax. And … to have another cube.”

Hound wilted, thinking another cube was far more punishable then the wrench any day.

“And Sunstreaker’s session is today so makes sure he shows up. I’ll be doing a medical exam for him today.”

…

Sunny hadn’t heard the knocking, hadn’t heard the troubled sigh nor the metallic footsteps on the titled floor. What he did hear... was the ceasing of his dripping faucet. His optics onlined immediately and he whined in his vocals when he saw his energon levels.

He was in the red.

Really in the red and Hound, who had invaded his shower, was kneeling at his side immediately, ““What are you doin’! Are you tryin’ to seriously damage yourself? Have you not drank anythin’ that I’ve been giving you?”

The twin stared, confused. He only had one cube … one? Slag, there were three cubes there. How had he not noticed that Hound had come in one or two other times? Slag… where had that day gone? Slag! Looking at his hub … he’d been in here three solar days.

Frag, fuck. I-it was Friday. No, no. How many shifts had he missed? Prowl was going to be pissed. Scratch that, Ratchet was going to kill him.

FRAG!

 Moaning, he struggled to move, murmuring, “H-how long have I been o-out of it?”

Hound stopped Sunstreaker from trying to stand, murmuring, “About three day cycles and don’t bother moving until after you’ve drank some energon.”

Sunstreaker frowned as the mech opened one of the cubes that had been at his side and presented it to him, the green mech looking a little pale in the shower room’s light. Sunstreaker would rather not drink it in all actuality, but he didn’t want to have to fight with Hound especially when he had a feeling the green mech had been covering for him because there was no way Prowl wouldn’t have trampled in here and demanded to know why he hadn’t been going to his shifts or at least Ratchet.

Speaking of Ratchet, “Frag! Today is Friday isn’t it?”

Hounded nodded, stating, “And he knows I’ve been covering for you the last few days. So don’t bother lying to him.”

Sunstreaker stilled, looking at the green mech in a mixture of confusion, thankfulness, and rage. Rage winning out as he nearly crushed the cube in his hand, “Y-you told him.”

“That you haven’t been feeling well? Yes… that you’ve been starving yourself of the last three day cycles. No,” said Hound as he sat next to the sun colored mech, not even frightened at the prospect of getting hit.

Glaring for a moment, he gave into tiredness and, despite how sick it made him, he tipped back half the cube in one gulp, his systems going into yellow… barely. He didn’t need the Hatchet doing an examination. He had to look healthy. He could take admitting he had… broken down.

He had. There was no denying it. He was breaking down. He needed to fix this, but until then he had to act normal. Well, _almost raped but certainly not Heavy_ normal.

Hound, watching the other choke down the second cube, Hound nodded and stated, “Give it a few minutes so it can get into all your systems and I recommended that you not do this again or I will go to Ratchet directly. I know you might just think of me as a room crasher but … I do care what happens to you.”

The green mech, knowing that Sunstreaker didn’t take to emotions well, rose to his feet and started for the door, stating over his shoulder, “Don’t forget that you have that meeting with the Hatchet in a few hours. I was sent to remind you.”

Nodding, watching Sunny start on the last cup of low grade, looking sicker than well with the energon now in him, the tracker turned for some well-deserved rest not missing the almost whisper, “Thank you, Hound.”

It took him a good hour until the energon got to all of his systems so he could stand, taking a quick shower as he tried to wax himself, but the pale shade to his paint could not be waxed out. Regardless, he didn’t need Ratchet coming to fetch him, so, as quite as possible in order to not wake the now recharging mech in the room, he left.

The walk down the halls nearly made him lose the energon he had struggled to intake. All he could think of was how he was going to hide the fact that he was Heavy. He knew that mechs’ didn’t expand the way humans did around the belly when with infants, but he knew there was expansion needed to house the sparkling.

How… he had never met a Heavy mech himself.

Femmes had spaces made for such reasons and he had no such empty space. What was going to happen?

Swallowing, deciding he wasn’t far enough along for anyone to notice physically unless they pressed a hand up his port and groped his birthing chamber, he tried to shake off his worry. Ratchet would notice he was nervous and a medic would ask why and if he lied… Ratchet just knew shit.

He’d find out if Sunny wasn’t careful.

Swallowing, deciding that maybe he would cry today so the medic would comfort him for an hour and then he could leave without really saying anything, Sunstreaker stepped into medic’s territory. He immediately cringed when Swoop looked at him. Yeah, he still had not forgotten that degrading examination and would rather never recall it. His life was horrible enough, being the second born after all. True, he was already a little displaced given that he was prone to depression and anger since his spark had been abandoned in the dark, but the second born had a history of causing disturbances be it wars, killing sprees, dangerous viruses or in one case… foresight.

To this day, no one knew if the visions of famine and war and holy interventions were really seen by the second born, Anti-lock, and could not be changed or were caused because he said they would be.

It was rumored that there were still some visions that still had not come to pass and the only mech’s that knew were the religious sort, all dead with the temples, and the Prime.

Shaking off the thought of his bad luck, how he had become Heavy was one in a million since they weren’t even bonded and he was male on top of that, Sunstreaker wilted as Ratchet came up to him looking him up and down, “You are pale. In fact, you are more like pale yellow then a sunny gold.”

“I’m in no mood for sarcasm,” murmured Sunstreaker, really wishing to go back to his room and panic a little more before he took a nap. He was exhausted as well.

Ratchet frowned as he watched Sunstreaker’s optics dim, his shoulder’s seeming to slump. The kid was tired and hungry and worried if one was going off his posture and color alone and Ratchet had half the mind to slap the front-liner in the back of the head.

So it was true that Sunstreaker had been sick …

The medic didn’t hit him though, there was a deep worry in Sunstreaker’s optics and … that was the perfect time to try and pry. He hadn’t gotten very far in their previous sessions, there had only had a handful. Regardless, if he didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere soon… well, Optimus Prime wanted some results. Not mentally perfect, but at least proof of being mentally capable was what the semi probably expected to hear, but at this rate… Ratchet didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere.

“Well come on. We should start now,” murmured the medic, pointing towards his office.

Sighing like it was a horrible fate to go into the office, he trumped forward and took a seat as the healer stalled outside the door. He looked over his shoulder long enough to watch the Chief Medic take something from Swoop and thank him before coming up to Sunstreaker’s side with a large cube… that swirled with grey and copper metals and purple and blue energy.

He immediately moaned, wincing away as the medic continued to hold it out to him, the front-liner’s mood no longer so despondent, “Please… don’t make me drink that.”

This time Ratchet did slap the younger mech in the back of the head.

“Well, you have been locked in your room for days and from what I hear, unable to keep anything down. Prowl reported you were overheating the other day as well. Have you even been able to intake anything except low-grade?” growled the healer.

Sunny wilted into the chair, knowing he should feel mad at Hound because some of that information was just a little too close to self-starvation, but then again … Hound had been really good to him the last few days considering how Sunstreaker kept everyone at arm’s length.

Hound was growing on him and so was Ratchet.

He had always had Sideswipe for company so that probably explained that.

Lately, he was feeling really lonely. Megatron could chase it away for a few moments and so could the thoughts of said mech, but his spark ached for his brother.

Maybe he would talk to Ratchet today, truthfully. He’d be easy on the medic because he needed someone to be easy on him. He felt so frail with that thing inside him, like it was eating all the walls around his spark and anything could crawl in.

Not wanting to struggle with the healer, he took the cube and gave the ambulance another pathetic look, “Do I have to. I hate this stuff and isn’t it only for seriously injured mechs?”

“And for ones that haven’t been in-taking successfully. Now, have your energon and meta-flesh metal cocktail,” said the medic, still standing there like a buzzard.

Sighing, too tired to fight the medic and a part of him wanting to get out of the office as soon as possible as if Ratchet might be able to see through his armor and see the… thing, Sunstreaker kicked it back all in one gulp, the stuff’s sliming texture alone making him swallow hard. He only got to sit still for a mil-a-second before his hand was thrown over his mouth, his tank arching upward as he made gagging noises, leaning forward in his chair in case he lost the new contents.

Ratchet merely came forward and forced him to sit up a little straighter at an angle that made the gagging a little less terrible as he rubbed Sunstreaker’s back, “Just ride it out. Just ride it out.”

And he did, two minutes later sitting back in the chair and looking absolutely miserable though his color looked a little better already as if there was this glow about him.

Sitting down in his own chair across the way, taking out a digi-pad to write things down, Ratchet began.

“Now, to business. A lot has been going on, hasn’t it?” said Ratchet, not quite sure what to go over today. There was the emotional stress and expectations of being a social pariah because Sunstreaker was second born, the fight with his brother, the night he injured his leg, the near rape by his brother, the mystery lover, the fight with Megatron and most recently Sunstreaker’s illness. Though, given what he heard from Prowl and Hound, the healer doubted it was really a bug and more likely emotional stress.

Still licking his denta, a disgusted look on his face from his recent meal, Sunstreaker nodded, a hand unknowingly being placed on his abdomen, “Yeah, you could say that. Been a real horror show as of late.”

Nodding, noting how Sunstreaker wasn’t looking him in the optics, limbs pulled close in a way that signified that he was upset. Ratchet continued onward.

“So, is there anything that has been bothering you more than usual? I don’t want to pick what we talk about, just what is bothering you the most?” said Ratchet, trying to get the conversation started.

Shrugging his shoulders, looking down at his hands for a moment, Sunny wanted to say, ‘ _I’m pregnant and its really bothering me because its Megatron’s and I have no idea how to abort it’_ , but all he could state was, “Everything… hurts. My head hurts, my spark hurts and I just want someone to fill my valve and make it all go away.”

Sunny’s own optics went wide at the admittance, cursing himself for being so blunt. He knew he was tired and exhausted and emotionally drained, but to just come out and say he wanted nanites in him. Frag… it had to be the sparkling’s fault. It was making him horny… it wanted its father to feed it.

Or anyone for that matter.

Screw it.

Ratchet nodded, writing something down quickly as he asked, “And was this the feeling that drove you to have relations with the mech that ripped you and still remains unnamed? Have you been interfacing to dull this feeling?”

Ratchet couldn’t help but jot down several diagnoses from that sentence alone. It just screamed sexual depravation and need and trouble developing relationships and an acute possibility of developing an interface addiction. He had yet to meet one of the said femmes or mechs that were interface addicts, but he had heard of them. Apparently, they had to frag every day or they would start getting the shakes like they were doped on Drive-sticks, little electric sticks one stuck into sensitive equipment so they were always getting little charges. It wasn’t highly destructive physically, for an addiction, but left a lot of emotional scarring.

Still for a moment as if he was unsure if it was true or not, Sunstreaker decided to admit the truth, “I don’t know. The night we ran into eat other… we might have killed each other… but he then noticed my spark’s stress and told me … he wasn’t afraid of me and he wanted me. He’s been having me since.”

Ratchet actually looked up, feeling a little sick at how hollow those words of fear were from Sunny, but not uncommon. Many mechs and femmes feared the second born or pitied them. The second born always had a horrible end if it was to being publicly executed for starting an uprising to suicide to keep the dark out of their spark. The second borns always had sad endings.

A cruelty by Primus some would say. It was even rumored that sometimes if a femme knew she was with twin sparks… she’d abort them both and try again.

He had seen more than one case.

Deciding to grab onto that line, Ratchet asked, “And why would mechs, beside Cons I mean, have to be afraid of you?”

Glaring as if it was obvious, a bit of rage overcame the exhaustion, and Sunstreaker decided to spit out, “Because I’m the fraggen second born! Everyone always expected it! They either expected me to become some kind of psychopath and kill everyone or to just one day decide living isn’t worth it and end it. Or… if Primus really _liked_ me he would give me some visions. Do you know how many second borns have apparently been given cursed abilities! I heard one mech could hear the dead and it drove him mad! It’s even rumored that those gifts come from the darkness we are alone in, that they are from Unicron himself!”

Placing a hand up, noting that Sunstreaker was about to rise out of his seat and probably start punching things, Ratchet murmured, “I know the rumors, Sunstreaker. You needn’t tell me … and personally, I think they are just social expectations that are forced on mechs so that they think their lives have to have those types of outcomes.”

Sunstreaker looked like he was about to blow again when the medic decided to save that for another day, wanting to keep Sunstreaker calm as possible today. He asked, “But… tell me more about this mech. Did you like those words? Does he say those kinds of warm things to you often or is it just interfacing?”

Lowering into his seat, the thought of Megatron automatically calmed him, those large hands and how the warlord had promised he’d never hurt his lovers was calming in every way for Sunstreaker. Megatron truly was a thoughtful lover if just a little rough before he was about to come. Megatron even worried about ripping him for Primus’s sake.

Uncertain of his feelings, Sunstreaker stated, “I like his cock. It’s big and hard and he always makes sure it’s good for me. He felt bad when he found out he ripped me so badly and … and I feel good just thinking about him.”

Ratchet knew it was just hanging on the edge of Sunstreaker’s tongue, second borns that had bond mates historically showing to do very well, so Ratchet asked, “Do you think you might want it to become more than just interfacing? Do you think you might have feelings of kinship? Maybe even love?”

Love would be good for Sunstreaker, very _very_ good. The healer just hoped that this mystery mech wasn’t fucking with Sunstreaker just to get frags easily because that could end badly with such an emotionally distressed front-liner. Frag, Ratchet wished he knew who it was that was fragging the sun colored bot so he would either worry or banish such thoughts about the relationship. He was a good judge of character and he would know the moment Sunstreaker gave him the name if the feelings were genuine or for a cheap frag.

So far it didn’t sound like the later though.

Optics going wide, as if the word ‘ _love’_ had never occurred to him, Sunny quickly dismissed it, “N-no. He’s not that type of mech. He is kind to his lovers, but he doesn’t … he’s not into that. It would never work out anyway. We are too different.”

Shaking his head, frustrated that a name or at least a hint at the fragger’s identity hadn’t been slipped yet, Ratchet asked, “How do you know? He might be like you… he keeps his emotions to himself. He might be feeling the same way about you and he doesn’t know if you’re that type of mech to want him in a more permanent manner.”

“P-permanent?” whispered Sunstreaker, pressing his hand against his abdomen plating.

Ratchet, surprised by how desperate and afraid and needy that word was, titled his head and murmured, “Yes, bond mates … sparklings. Growing ancient together.”

Sunstreaker looked depressed and wanting at the same time, love sick and confused if Ratchet had a word for it. It now seemed maybe splitting up with Sideswipe momentarily for a while was a good thing. Sunstreaker was now developing his own relationship. Did it have a healthy start, not the best from the sounds of it, but he had heard worse from happy couples.

Well, at least those rape worries from earlier now seemed less and less likely. Sunstreaker wouldn’t love a Con. He was too much of an Autobot for such a grave sin. So it wasn’t a raper that had ripped Sunstreaker’s valve. At least he still prayed that as just a paranoid thought.

“Not stating you have to worry about bonding ceremonies or anything like that quite yet Sunstreaker, but you don’t have to keep a distance from him if you feel like there is more there. Just talk with him, see if you want something more intimate than interfacing,” continued Ratchet, trying not to smile at his gift horse.

Yes, Sunstreaker had issues, there was no denying it, but a healthy relationship could really improve sour outlooks and emotional stress. This nameless lover had to be a good thing. Primus had given the youth too many bad things lately to give him another hard option.

Wanting to keep this light-sparked to increase communication between the two of them, and so that Sunstreaker could maybe dissect if this was in love or not, Ratchet decided to try an exercise, stating, “Alright, for the rest of this session, I want you to tell me what you think love is and what spark-bonding is about and then tell me what you think our society’s definition of those things are as well.”

Sunstreaker frowned, hating this idea already.

Ratchet mere nodded, not dissuaded, “Don’t be like that, there are no wrong answers either way.”

A few minutes later, notes jotted down and feeling like they had got somewhere today, Ratchet patted the sun colored warrior on the shoulder, his EM field pouring out for a moment in a comforting manner as the healer stated, “We had a good talk today. Talking, even about things like bonding and no-name lovers,” Sunny glared for a moment at the jab, “is good for the spark. Hopefully, next week will go well too. Now, gather yourself and then you can head to a berth in the main room.”

“B-berth? Why?” said Sunstreaker, his spark that had been light a moment ago now sinking as the truth started to settle back into his tank. He was Heavy. Did Ratchet want to see if he was Heavy? He had talked a lot about fragging today and maybe the healer had suspicions now.

Frag, frag, frag! He should have kept his mouth shut!

Ratchet stalled and then gave a comforting smile, not noticing Sunstreaker’s inner panic as he stated, “Just want to make sure that you are okay, having been down so many days, and to check your spark. Nothing that will take too long. Just routine maintenance”

Sunstreaker merely nodded and Ratchet led him to a berth.

He felt sick.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Sunstreaker angst is wonderful and so it the question of love and a cliff hanger as well. Yay!


	13. Prognosis

 

Sunstreaker balled his hands into fists so they wouldn’t shake.

He could run away or punch Ratchet in the _face_ and then run away. He didn’t see that solving much except for him getting thrown into the brig before his medical examination.

This was going to happen. There was no denying it. There was no way to hide it… unless it was too soon for anyone to tell. The little thing was no longer nestled up against his spark after all, but in his chamber and he doubted that the medic was going to stick his hand up there and grope around.

… Though Ratchet could be very thorough, there was no denying that.

Swallowing, he noticed that it was one of the shifting berths he had been lead to, the kind that folded at a tilt so a mech’s inner mechanics could be examined or their spark … or their valve if the knees were propped up.

Sunstreaker legs went numb at the prospect.

“Well,” said the medic, still looking confident from their earlier discussion. “On the table. Make yourself comfortable. We have a few things to check today.”

Sunstreaker, whose hand had just gingerly been placed on the berth to keep away the horror of what was to come, looked up and choked, “We?”

Ratchet, turned and gave him a look, “Yes, _we_. I will not leave a lesson half complete. Now sit down. First Aid will be by to hook you up into the berth in order to read your vitals and see if there are any viruses bouncing around in there making you sick or if it was a … mental… ailment of late.”

Frowning hard, Sunstreaker almost walked out of there in an angry fit but Ratchet quickly noticed glare at the word _mental_ and added, “Not that that is a bad thing, Sunstreaker. As long as those emotions are sorting themselves out in a healthy manner. There is nothing wrong with expressing them.”

The silence might have unsettled a lesser mech, but Ratchet had neither the time nor the patience for such glowering and headed off to get his tools. First Aid, in exchange, came up behind him and gave Sunny a nervous look, the front-liner’s optics glowing harshly as an expression of his mood.

The young medic shrunk back, noticing the threat, and actually took a step back until he slammed into something. First Aid immediately turned around and choked on his words, “Oh, Swoop. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“No you wouldn’t see Swoop. Swoop behind you. It’s okay,” said the flier as he turned to look at Sunstreaker, asking First Aid, “Why Sunstreaker still standing there. He’s supposed to be getting hooked up?”

First Aid looked over his shoulder at the Lamborghini, a whine almost being birthed in his throat as those blue optics ripped into his very spark. At least it felt that way. The young medic was almost positive that if he went over there and asked Sunstreaker to get on the berth one of his arms would be ripped off and he would be beaten to deactivation with it.

And then Sunstreaker would laugh manically over his bloodied remains.

Truthfully, a part of his mind chided him for that thought. Sunstreaker was an Autobot, but then again he got the same image in his head whenever Ratchet glared at his work… though Ratchet would always have a buzz saw to do his maiming. The maniacal laugh with lightning in the background was always the same though.

Even Prowl’s version had that, minus the laughing. It was more an evil smile with him.

Watching First Aid’s visor dim, Swoop shook his head, knowing what was wrong since the other mech did it to Ratchet all the time though their teacher hardly noticed. First Aid didn’t want to touch Sunny. Pushing gently pass the meeker healer, Swoop’s huge form overshadowed Sunstreaker’s form, “Scary glare not scare me, pretty bot. Must Swoop help pretty bot on or you get on yourself?”

Growling, not wanting to dare think of the degradation if Swoop had to force him onto the table, Sunstreaker turned to look at the berth and then … got on. He almost felt dizzy as he laid down his helm, turning off his optics as he tried to pretend he wasn’t here. Though that illusion was ruined as he felt two sets of hands make quick work of hooking him up, his helm being shifted to the side as wires were plugged in as well as in various other ports. He almost wined as he felt medical code press against his firewalls. He knew he could fight against them if he wanted but then the machines would start to wail that something was wrong, and so he reluctantly allowed his firewalls down.

He shivered as they started pressing into his systems, looking for active commands and unknown lines of code.

Mind still stuck on the medical machines penetrating him, he almost yipped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, fingers tilting his helm to the side. He couldn’t look at Ratchet as the medic put in the last cord.

“There we go. We’ll do a routine examination and check … your spark chamber,” said the healer. “Now, I can already tell that your systems are stressed. Maybe I’ll give you some medical code for that … but let’s see.”

The next half a joor was full of Ratchet muttering to his two students as plating was pulled and wires were tugged, before Ratchet turned to the yellow mech, “You look to be in good health, though your metal looks like it might have did some minor cannibalizing of late. Not uncommon if your leg is trying to fit itself perfectly, but my measurements … I was sure my measurements were perfect. Your body shouldn’t have had to cannibalize for anything.”

Sighing as he pulled back and pinched his noise bridge, Ratchet murmured, “Well, you will be having a few more energon and meta-flesh metal cocktails until your metal starts to restore itself.”

Sunstreaker moaned in disgust as he onlined his optics, growling, “That’s it … I’m getting off of the table. That’s my torture level for the day.”

Ratchet just pressed down on the yellow mech’s armor to keep him still as the healer grumbled, “I think not, unless you want a wrench to the face. Stay still while I have a look under that chassis. I’m pretty sure I know what the problem is.”

What little calm he was able to collect while be examined with nothing going wrong, died in Sunstreaker’s throat. There was no doubt in his mind that the sparklet had left some kind of mark on his spark. His shoulders went stiff and he actually twitched as he felt Ratchet felling against his chassis for the lift.

The medic’s finger quickly rubbed against it, but he didn’t pull the lift, murmuring to his two students, “Now, for this type of model, given their thickened armor for war… it’s kind of hard to get to. Now, feel right here.”

Sunstreaker twitched as he felt two other sets of hands feel into the groove, then Ratchet whisper for them to press it and a large set of fingers did just that, his chest opening … light pouring outward onto all the medics’ faces.

Ratchet swore lightly and Sunstreaker offlined his optics, fearing the worst as his metal fingers dug into the berth. The sparklet had to have left a mark of some kind or a tunnel all the way down into his carrying chamber, he didn’t know how mech carrying worked, yet … there was no demand of who the sire was or a hand symbolically placing itself on his abdomen.

Instead, the medic sighed heavily, murmuring, “Sunstreaker … you should have told me your spark was so weak. It would have explained everything … the fatigue and the trouble keeping your energon down. If the spark is incredibly stressed it will distressed the rest of your systems. Though … the pains you were probably having in your chest should have been informed you to come to me sooner.”

Growling in his throat, lecture over because Sunstreaker didn’t seem to be replying, Ratchet reached down into the chassis towards the spark. Sunny arched immediately at the careful touch, his spark far more sensitive then he would have thought.

Ratchet immediately let go as well, surprised by the spark’s reaction. That kind of reaction was something one would see from a mech a few clicks from overload. Frowning as he rubbed his hands that were now tingly all over, Ratchet murmured, “Apologizes, Sunstreaker. I didn’t know your spark was so sensitive. Though, given that reaction, perhaps your spark isn’t as badly off as it seems. Though, as your physician, you need someone to stabilize you with in the week… ”

Sunstreaker gave him almost a horrified expression, wishing to melt into the table because Ratchet had basically just told him to go get fragged. It was even worse because the two students both refused to look at him.

“Do you understand Sunstreaker?” asked Ratchet as he reached for a different tool.

The front-liner was still a bit flabbergasted over the ‘get sparked’ comment and that he hadn’t been found out about the sparkling yet, that he dully murmured, “So … I need to frag someone and stabilize my spark by the end of the week or … you will assist me?”

“Or another officer,” said Ratchet as he leaned in, now speaking to his students, “Now, observe carefully. It’s not every day you will see this. Look at the spark’s activity and how it’s pressing in and shivering. A half spark cannot support itself, so another spark or the other twin would generally counteract this degrading by charging it through spark sharing. In the case of deactivation of one of the twins, this degrading would be far faster and generally would lead to deactivation if a bond mate doesn’t exist with the surviving member. Sunstreaker’s spark is merely decaying rapidly because of stress which is normal in a stressed twin. It is a type of reaction that happens to force a bonding with the other half in order to share emotions and complete the spark. That’s why after fighting … it isn’t uncommon for twins to bond.”

Sunstreaker titled his head away, his hands becoming fists. It felt like Ratchet was chiding him from being too stubborn to forgive his brother.

The two students were merely silent though, no opinions offered until Ratchet encouraged them to reach in and check the spark for damage as well as the surrounding circuits. Sunstreaker knew his hands were shaking at this point, that he felt like he was being molested by the multiple sets of hands inside his chassis, yet after some minor soldering and few more jolts when someone touched his spark casing … they seemed to be done with his spark until First Aid piped up asking, “Ratchet, what’s with this scar on the glass?”

Ratchet and Swoop immediately dove back in and Sunstreaker kneed in worry, only to be pressed back into the table by Ratchet as the medic murmured, “Hmm, odd. It could be a bond scar, though Sunny only had Sideswipe which is a weak bond but not broken, or …”

Ratchet was silent for a moment the silence setting in the air before Swoop piped up, “Or what?”

“… A sparklet release,” murmured Ratchet.

Sunstreaker almost jumped off the table at the word but Ratchet pulled away, adding, “Which with twin sparks, when they separate from one spark to make two, can leave a mark like that. Not generally the case with all twins, but not uncommon. Now, we have one last thing to check. That peda-flesh between Sunstreaker’s legs. I want to make sure it took and I just as wells give him a proper examination since I will be down there,” said Ratchet, hitting a button on the side of the berth to make it tilt slightly, the metal bending and rising up his knees. Sunstreaker had always wondered what that button was for and now … he wished he never knew, his peds’ placement forcing his thighs apart with the transforming table.

Sunstreaker immediately twitched at the movement, almost jumping off the table.  

He was just saved his spark showing no noticeable signs of being Heavy yet here was Ratchet about to grope his birthing chamber.

He knew Primus hated him, but really?

Stalling at the yellow mech’s feet, Sunstreaker instinctively closed his thighs causing Ratchet to raise one optic brow, the medic asking, “Don’t tell me you’re shy? We all got a peek a few days ago. Now, open your thighs and let me make sure the repairs took. That equipment is delicate.”

Swallowing, Sunny stated in a choked voice, “I would rather not.”

Frowning, Ratchet placed a hand on a knee and squeezed, growling, “You will, especially since I found out you abused that port stretcher or would you rather me test it right now for you? I could stabilize your spark at the same time because I don’t want you going back to your mystery lover to stabilize your spark if your equipment isn’t up to par.”

Shivering, his tank feeling like it was going to lose his contents, Sunny wanted to fight this. Yet, knowing a fight would only lead to the brig and an exanimation and probably medical stabilization as well, the front-liner turned his head as he slowly opened his thighs. W-what was he going to say when Ratchet discovered the sparklet? Rape? He’d rather deactivate. Though maybe he could claim it was Sideswipe’s, unfortunately there had never been a documented case of twins impregnating each other. Neither had the charge after all, they were both half sparks.

Spreading his thighs a little further, Ratchet tried not to note that the sun colored mech looked like he was going to cry, the healer sighing as he whispered in a comforting manner, “This will just a take a little bit and there’s a curtain, Sunny. No reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed. Pit, even Prowl has to come in for these exams once a vorn and I think he’s maybe used his equipment once in his entire life.”

Despite his panicking spark, Sunny tried to snort though it still felt empty, murmuring, “I’m not a sparkling … this … let’s get this over with.”

Frag, his tank was doing flip flops.

“I know, Sunstreaker. Now, let’s get this over with and then I’m sending you to have some R and R with your roommate. You’re stress levels are too high,” said the medic, reaching forward and with ease that was far too casual, he popped open the cod piece.  

The first thing the healer noticed as he placed the cod piece on the tools table was how the valve shivered. He couldn’t help but frown. It seemed ready for penetration and Ratchet doubted that Sunny was aroused at all with the frown on the younger mech’s face and his refusal to look him or the trainees in the optic. Not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe he had made the peta-skin a little too sensitive in the valve but as long as Sunstreaker enjoyed the levels, there was nothing wrong with it.

Lighting up his optics so he would see well, Ratchet knelt forward and peered downward into the twitching valve, noting now that it was even a little wet though, as he reached a finger forward and ran a finger around the rim to see how it would react to touch, he noted there was a greyish ting to the lube… like rejected nanties though Sunny’s body should cannibalize them naturally unless it needed alive ones. He frowned at that. Sunny probably cleaned out his birthing tank so why would his chamber be rejected damaged ones?

“What is that?” murmured Swoop as he eyed the grey stuff as well.

“Rejected nanites… someone hasn’t cleaned their tank properly,” murmured Ratchet.

Sunstreaker covered his face with both his hands and groaned in mortification.

The students didn’t even look up.

“It would be bluer then that, energon traces, would it? But these look _dead_ or _used up_. Is that even possible?” asked First Aid, placing a hand on a thigh as he leaned in, entranced by the oddities that seemed to surround Sunstreaker’s body.

“Well, there are cases… but let’s have a look before I deduce anything,” established the mech as his hand probed a nearby tool table and grabbing a type of stretcher. With skilled hands, he slowly started pressing it into the quivering valve, Sunstreaker arching off the berth slightly and hissing.

Ratchet immediately winced, “Sorry, I forgot to warm it before hand, just relax Sunstreaker. You are too tight.”

“Sorry, most find that a great quality in a valve,” Sunny growled, rising to sarcasm as his spark started beating faster. Not that his spark was slowly down, the rising of Ratchet’s brow was not a good sign especially when the healer usual got these type of exams over as quickly as possible for the patients.

He was actually peering.

Swallowing, feeling so sick he almost puked right there, “W-what, is something wrong?”

Ratchet lifted his head up, looking the patient in the eye, stating, “No, no. It’s just that something’s … abnormal.”

Sunny slowly sat up on his elbows, whispering, “Abnormal… no, no. _Everything_ is normal down there.”

Waving his hand at the slowly panicking patient, Ratchet got down lower and basically buried his head between those spread legs. First Aid and Swoop both exchanged weary glances, feeling Sunny setting a nervous charge in the air.

“Let’s just get a deeper peak. You valve actually looks larger… and not the peta-flesh … I mean like your hips are spreading. The port stretcher has no way to do that. Hmmm, let’s just get near the chamber and see it its settling or out of place or something,” said the medic, the tool sliding in and actually getting uncomfortable even though his valve was wet… probably because of the pregnancy.

Leg’s shivering, pain pinching his valve as the tool expanded to allow Ratchet a good look, Sunny almost begged, “Ratchet, please stop. I-its starting to hurt.”

First Aid immediately looked up and rubbed Sunny’s leg softly as he spoke, “Ratchet, maybe you should take it out and warm it or lube it some more. Sunstreaker looks like he’s in pain.”

Ratchet, a part of his mind screaming that it knew what this was already but just couldn’t place it, was so entranced with discovering why the valve was acting this way that he merely murmured, “I’m almost there, the chamber does seem lower… tell him to just bare it for another moment.”

First Aid looked up, noticing that Sunstreaker looked close to weeping, added in a stressed tone, “Ummm, Ratchet… I think you should pull out. Sunstreaker doesn’t look so … good.”

Optics still squinted, he said to himself, “What did I say First Aid? Just… there is something… what is that?”

Swoop who had been in the background, over his teacher’s shoulder watched as Sunstreaker started to swoon almost in pain or panic, shivering as his optics started to blink on and off. He was upset. Really upset and with his system reacting like this. He was close to crying. That valve must be very sensitive if it was causing a front-liner this much distress. Especially since it was causing the yellow mech to lean over the side as if he was going to …

Oh no…

A spelching noise filled the room as Sunstreaker turned his head in time lose the medical grade all over the floor. He puked again at re-tasting that medical cocktail. He almost lost his contents again at the thought that now Ratchet was going to make him drink another glass of that stuff, but somehow kept it down.

… But at least Ratchet pulled that thing out of him.

Sighing, giving the fluid-covered tool to First Aid as he murmured for him to take a sample, Ratchet walked over to Sunstreaker’s side … the side that hadn’t been dirtied. He petted the mech’s lower forearm, grumbling, “You could have given me warning. That grade takes forever to make.”

Sunstreaker merely groaned as spittle and energon dripped down his chin, the yellow mech pulling his knees closer in order to roll over on his side. In truth, he was so near to weeping, it wasn’t funny. His tank did ache but mostly his spark did. It was pounding so hard in his chassis, pressing into the bond with Sideswipe so desperately for comfort that Sunny didn’t know if he would be able to hold out.

H-he had almost been discovered.

Whining in distress, he barely noticed that Ratchet had started rubbing circles on his back as the healer before he started staring at the hologram-monitor above Sunstreaker’s head. Squinting for a moment, he turned to Swoop and asked softly, “Please get a processed cube or two with a line. We are going to directly put it in his engine. Hopefully, if it is a bug, the plug-ins will find it. Sunstreaker… you’ll be here a while. Just bunker down for recharge, alright?”

Sunny nodded and moaned again as he covered his face with a spare hand, hating the medical codes that were bouncing around in his system and the thought that they were going to be there twice as long now because Ratchet was going to double check for viruses. Primus, it wouldn’t pick up on a sparkling, would it?

Fear sparking in his chassis again, pressing so roughly against the bond, Sunstreaker finally gave in and allowed a soft feeling of fear through the link. He hadn’t forgiven Sideswipe, no… but… but he needed something. Especially since deep down he knew he couldn’t hide the sparkling forever. It had to go… within the week if he could. He had to hide this shame. Frag, he felt even more ashamed now, having given into the bond, Sideswipe having noticed it seemed as he latched onto the miniscule emotion. Sideswipe always knew when to take advantage, like he was right now, taking the small opening in the bond as an opportunity to press in emotions of begging and affection and longing. He was pressing so hard that Sunny was almost tempted to allow the bond fully open, to cry out for help.

He didn’t though. He just gripped onto the small snippets of affection that leaked through.  

Offlining his optics, pressing himself into recharge because he knew he was going to be stuck on this table now, he begged Sideswipe for more warm feelings. Sideswipe only stalled for a moment before all the other emotions disappeared and were replaced with warmth and affection and want. Sunny whimpered at the show of affection, a part of him having forgotten just how wonderful his brother’s spark was as he grabbed onto all the warm feelings he could in order to try and strive off the cold darkness that was originating because of his birthing chamber.

And that was how he slowly started to fall into recharge, medical hookups beeping at him. Though he was positive that he had heard Sideswipe plead at medical door to be let in before he completely fell into recharge.

He wanted Sideswipe back so badly right now, his spark shivering in fear and uncertainty, though he knew it would never work. He could only touch Sideswipe; he could never share with him again. Never could he show his double betray, triple betrayal once the sparklet was aborted.

By then… his spark would be too dirty for Sideswipes. Biting his lip at the thought, he silently prayed that no one heard his engine hiccup as recharge remained absent a few moments longer, the curtain barely even a shelter for his misery. Just how was he going to fix this?

…

Ratchet sat in his office, jotting down on a digi-pad. The frown would not disappear from his face. Something was up, not only with Sunstreaker’s mind, but his body. The scanners still hadn’t found a virus and Sunny’s valve was acting like it was _adjusting_ itself. Was it a natural reaction to being twinlessness, the body trying to make itself more presentable to attract a bed buddy to stabilize the spark?

He had never heard of it.

Well, it truth he hadn’t yet found any research on it. Probably because it was uncommon for half sparks to survive without the other, or if they did, the remaining one was too depressed to care about spark sharing and generally died shortly after. Sideswipe was still alive so Sunstreaker wouldn’t’ go into full-blown grieving and could siphon feelings through the bond if he was desperate. Though, knowing Sunstreaker, he was probably too stubborn for that.

So, was the oddity in the valve a type of mate attraction? With the spark the way it was, maybe. But what of that scar? He had done examinations on the twins before, but he didn’t recall that in either one. It would be something he would generally note as well so if another medic would see it they would have an idea of how old the scar was and if it was in danger of harming the spark.

Well, considering all the oddities, at least the session had went better then he hoped and though the valve’s odd condition bothered him, he had sample of the grey lube. Though, maybe with more observation, maybe the two symptoms would show a connection. Had he pried some emotions out of the youth about things more than love with the front-liner today. After all, the lack of expression is just as important. It can mean a background of abuse and pain…

 _Like rape_ …

Ratchet stopped jotting, frowning when he realized he was jotting down his thoughts. The word “rape” jagged and harsh. He immediately put the pad down and rubbed his optics.

No, no. Sunstreaker had feelings of love for his newest partner… unless the newest partner was sought out to press off the pain of rape. Uh, no… H-he didn’t want to think about someone raping Sunstreaker. It was too heartbreaking.

“Ratchet?”

The healer immediately perked his head up and looked at the hulking form that was standing in his doorway. He blinked in surprise and then waved his hand, Optimus slowly walking in, the door shutting behind him. Then, with a grace that one wouldn’t expect from his frame type, Optimus slowly sat down on the opposite side of the desk. For a moment Optimus just stared at him with those doll-blue optics of his. It was like he was observing the soul… trying to find ways to fix it.

Shaking off the errie feeling, Ratchet asked, “What brings you to my office today, Optimus?”

The large mech sighed and blinked his optics for a moment as he slouched, out of sight from all of his soldiers, his tone tired as he asked, “Ratchet, I’d hate to badger you, I know I left Sunstreaker under your jurisdiction, but I have to know, how goes your progress with the front-liner? I really would like to have him on the front line as soon as he you can. Megatron’s silence is … _troubling_. He has been acting odd, distracted almost. I don’t even want to imagine what he is up to.”

Ratchet nodded, turning off the digi-pad as he murmured, “I can keep him on light duty but I still don’t want him on the field. I’m still worried about him… He has deeper problems then the _situation_ with Sideswipe. Though, since Sideswipe came by today after Sunstreaker’s examination … well, they slowly seem to be reaching out to each other. It might take a vorn or two, but they might be able to make up. So, for now you will have to do with just Sideswipe I’m afraid.”

Optimus nodded at that,  “Yes, that situation was troubling on its own but at least it’s not hopeless. They both might be reckless on the battlefield but at least they were a good team. Watched each other’s backs very well.”

Ratchet nodded and leaned to the side, reaching for something in one of his drawers as he added, “If you call coming back maimed _watching each other’s back_.”

Optimus chuckled softly and behind his desk, Ratchet smiled softly as well. It was times like this, in the stillness, that he felt like this was still the Golden Age. That Optimus and him were just having a good chat, calmly, none of the screaming or barking demands that came from a lot of the other officers in a time of battle.

He was sure that he would have given up long ago, overcome by heart ache, if Optimus wasn’t here. An ever present harbor.

Pulling out one of his famous cocktails, Optimus chuckled again as the cube was handed to him. Perhaps knowing to well that if he came into the medbay, it was an excuse for Ratchet to prod at his health.

“I hope this isn’t the one that makes you gag,” mutter the Prime as he removed his face mask, knowing all too well there was no point in fighting his medical officer.

Shaking his head as he pulled out the same kind of medical grade cube, the medic murmured, “No, I gave most of those to Hound and Sunstreaker today. These are high grade with finely ground metals like copper and just a little bit of steal for filling in broken joints. Rather tasty metals even though they are mostly fillers.”

Optimus chuckled, his lips wearing that angel smile of his. It was a sad soft expression that he almost always wore when he took off his mask in privacy. He wasn’t beautiful or anything of the kind. His face was normal, almost like an older Bluestreak. Optimus kept the mask to protect his face and because he had made a promise, long ago… a promise only a few knew. He would wear that battle mask until the day he considered the war over.

“Indeed,” murmured Optimus as he took a sip.

“Yes, and don’t worry so much, Optimus. Like I said last time… he’s been hurting a long time but maybe separating from Sideswipe for a while wasn’t entirely a bad thing.”

Stalling in his second sip, his deep rumbling voice asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one, it seems he’s actually made a friend. Hound and him are good for each other. You’ll have to complement Prowl on the rooming decision,” added Ratchet as he pulled out a second treat, a rust stick, placing one in his drink like a makeshift straw as well as Optimus’ cube. He saw Spike do this once with a straw and had thought it stupid at the time, but lax moments like these … it seemed fitting in the calm.

Optimus looked at the rust stick for a moment before taking it out, not even bothering to suck on it like a youngling would have, as he started munching on it, waving his hand as a sign for his officer to continue.

“Also, it seems that conversation we had about who ever was fragging Sunstreaker,” Optimus blushed as he recalled that embarrassing conversation when Ratchet asked if he was fragging the golden solider, “has stolen his spark. He might have something more than a crush going on. I wish I knew who he was though … so if I could observe it as a healthy relationship or not.”

Nodding in agreement, Optimus took another sip, still a bit embarrassed by this type of conversation. And the silence may have reigned forever if Ratchet hadn’t spoken again.

“I still think it’s Jetfire. He’s just too bashful to admit it,” said Ratchet, feeling the high grade start to take effect.

Optimus almost spit out his drink as he laughed before he could sputter, “I could not see him working well with Sunstreaker’s dominating personality.”

Smirking, the medic shook his head, “Well, who them? It isn’t you. I don’t see Ironhide lying nor tapping that and well… I’ve heard Perceptor might have gotten an upgrade because he wanted to be on top, but does he seem the type to dominate Sunstreaker?”

The two high officers looked at each other for a moment before they both roared in laughter, nearly falling out of their seats. The rest of the day was like that for the two veterans as they slowly forgot Sunstreaker’s problems, the two of them falling into old times before war and energon and suffering. Days when Optimus was a dock worker and Ratchet was still in training.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love slightly intoxicated Optimus. It seems that Ratchet is always an instigator after that though. Also… next chapter we get some Sunstreaker/Megatron time. Mmm.


	14. Phone Sex Mech

Hound shifted on his berth and readjusted himself as if trying to get into a better position to read his digi-pad, pretending not to look at Sunstreaker (whom had finally gotten out of Ratchet’s care after a day and a half, his color back) as the yellow mech continued to shine the same spot in his forearm for the last hour or so. Shifting again and making a voorm sound, the equivalent of clearing one’s throat, Hound’s gaze finally made the yellow mech look up and bare his teeth.

“What!”

Looking at his digi-pad, abusing his R&R, Hound struggled not to grin as he replied, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me! You’ve been doing that since I escaped from the Hatchet. Just let me wax myself in peace,” growled Sunstreaker, his mind trying to distract itself by minding Hound. His thoughts were too heavy from Sunstreaker’s worries of being Heavy, needing to abort it, and balancing his spark yet keeping the truth from Megatron as they fragged.

He probably would be able to hide it when fragging a mech he had no bond to or he could just spark from behind, thoughts couldn’t get through but then again… Megatron would be guarded and would detect treachery. He was a warlord. Then again, he fragged a lot of mechs and femmes. Maybe he could keep his thoughts hidden and probably kept out other mechs and femmes’ thoughts to protect his systems, just drinking in emotions.

Hound, still not looking up from his pad, stated, “I’m reading my pad, Sunstreaker. Not staring nor am I stopping you from waxing yourself.”

Optics becoming slits, the twin growled, “I said looking, not staring.”

Looking up finally, the green mech asked, “And they differ how?”

Sunny just continued glaring… and kept glaring and kept glaring until Hound couldn’t read his pad anymore and looked up, barking, “What?”

The glare could have pierced his very spark with its intensity.

Frowning, wondering if a brawl was about to break out, he asked, “Will you stop staring.”

Some more glaring and staring continued along with an optic twitch.

Finally, Hound gave in, “Fine, I noticed you seem distracted. You have been waxing the same part of your forearm for about an hour. Something on your mind?”

Sunstreaker’s optics gained a fearful and shamed expression before his shoulder’s shagged and he stared at his waxing rag. It was then that he realized it was a rag Sideswipe had given to him. It was a good grade or anything but it had been his favorite. It reminded him of a time when Sideswipe and him had been happy, when his art bloomed and people ogled those lovely pieces with amazement, joy, and … dare he guess… love and passion.

All of those emotions had been there for him, for what a second born had done.

Unfortunately, only one of his paintings had survived that he knew of. It was in his closet with his few remaining art supplies he had taken with him, no time for art during war. That last treasure was not of Cybertron’s lost skyscrapers or the lost crystal gardens. It was of him and his brother. An emotional piece with flaws and wild lines and colors too bright, but it was how he had seen the two of them in his mind and spark, hands melted together and helms leaned against each other with their backs to the painting as they stared at a rising star in the distance.

Separate but one, glowing and warm … and happy.

He took in a deep intake, picturing it in his mind. It was like a living memory now. Something of the past. Never to be again.

_Do you think you might have feelings of kinship? Maybe even love?_

Those words echoed in his head from Ratchet. He couldn’t do anything about the abortion or stabilizing his spark right now… unless Hound wanted to frag him, but for some reason … that thought bothered him. He wanted a different type of affection from Hound. He wanted a hearty laugh, a chuckle as the door would closed, a soft smile just because Sunstreaker had been frowning too much.

He wanted a friend.

It was a type of love he hadn’t had much of lately, though there were many types he had read of once. He wanted this type of love though, soft and gentle like a shared whisper from a remembered joke or intertwined strings that jumped over each other like moving jump ropes, shifting at the same pace but never intertwined.

Looking Hound in the optic he stated, “How about I show you … for there are no words for my passion and sorrow.”

Hound looked confused, wondering if he should comm. Ratchet for help with the sad smile that gripped itself on Sunstreaker’s lips, especially when he started banging around in his closet. It took him several minutes until Sunny came out with what looked like a easel and a metallic-painting pad, powdered metals and melting torch sticks… classic tools for an artist.

He had never seen so many emotions cover Sunstreaker’s face in one day be it joy, horror, rage, sorrow, or lust.

He worked for a few hours until Hound asked to see it and then front-liner smiled, a happy smile that had been forgotten due to the war; days before whatever haunted him when his soul was young having never been stained in the dark. He even offered a coy grin as he stated, “That would ruin the picture. You have to wait for it to be done.”

Hound smiled the rest of the day because Sunstreaker had smiled and he just couldn’t wait to see the portrait that displayed all of a forgotten soul’s emotions.

…

Later that evening, when the day was done, Sunstreaker’s spark gave a nasty throb and the mech was forced to roll over in his berth and sigh. Painting for Hound had released some of his tension, but Ratchet’s words were still worrying him. He knew his spark was stressed and he knew it was all the sparkling’s fault. If it was because he kept denying it or because it’s very creation had exhausted his spark, he didn’t know.

Didn’t care.

It had to go.

Frag, that damn cat said Soundwave would help him. He didn’t know how long it would take before it started showing, but one thing was for sure… He needed to get a hold of Soundwave, but the only number he had was Megatron’s.

His valve gave a throb at the thought.

Frag, he should be freaking out yet here he was … horny. Biting his lip, wondering if he should put his streatcher stick in and rut around on his berth, careful not to wake his roommate… the mech slowly got up and considered reaching toward the bedside stand where he kept his streatcher only to stall.

He … wanted the real thing and Megatron did want to see him. It was also late and no one was stalking him like they were Sideswipe.

He could just wander off and … make love… to. N-no. he had to get rid of this problem first. He needed that cat-former to get back to him. If Megatron found out he was carrying, he’s probably rip it out himself. Yes, a part of him believed that Megatron had meant what he said that night in the desert … that he would never hurt him.

But … had his words figured in a sparkling?

Probably not.

Male pregnancies were so rare.

Biting his lip as his valve twitched in want again, Sunstreaker decided that … it was time to call that number. He had heard some of the human males joking about it once and it was a way he could have Megatron without actually touching him. Looking back at Hound, the mech dead in recharge, the yellow mech grabbed his stretcher and subspaced it as well as a rag.

He knew a nice quiet place in the Ark that was more mountain than ship where he could … pleasure himself as he spoke to the mech he was going to imagine was inside him.

Jogging down the halls, making it seem to others that he was heading for a midnight snack though in the end he merely skipped the rec. room, he got to a part of the ship that had stalagmites. Looking around, knowing full well that Red Alert was probably wondering what he was doing in this part of the ship if he was on shift, Sunstreaker decided he didn’t care and slipped into a stone groove between the metal of the ship … and the mountain. It took some ducking and a few twists and turns but finally the mech found himself alone. It was a cave that had formed given time and calcium and had a smooth cool portion of floor … perfect for lying down on and fucking oneself.

He did not want someone walking in on his again, masturbating again like Sideswipe had with Jazz.

Lying down, Sunstreaker was quick to pop his cod piece, smiling almost wickedly as he started fiddling with himself. First, he reached for his still partially limp spike and started running his hand over the tip, shivering as he waited for the other to reply to his hails. Frag, why was he so horny? He was Heavy. He should he bawling in the shower, not jacking off in a cave. Frag, whatever, he needed that Cat to uphold her part of the deal and tell her Master he had a problem that needed to be dealt with.

But he didn’t want to think of that now. He just needed to frag himself… something he might have to do on his onesy if Megatron didn’t answer.

Taking in a deep vent of air he spread his legs farther, dipping one finger into his valve whenever his cock pumping brought his hand down towards the base. Ugh, he wanted to stick it in Megatron so bad. He wanted to tie that tyrant to a berth and just take his valve. He wanted Megatron to moan for his spike.

Moaning at the thought of having Megatron’s valve he almost jumped when Megatron finally picked up.

“Its fraggen late… I was sure you got this number a day ago,” grumbled the warlord, probably waken from his recharge.

 Chuckling, not the least bit turned off by the other’s gruff mood, the younger mech smiled as he began the game, his cock hard now as he flipped his equipment, dipping fingers in. He was going to ride that streatcher into the floor as he pumped his cock. He wanted to spew his cum everywhere and feel his fluids pool on the stone floor… but first he needed some more stimulation.

“So tell me Megatron… what are you wearing?” said Sunstreaker, smiling slightly as he imaged Megatron looking down at himself. Uh, his valve wanted that grey body.

Megatron, looking down at his form, frowned and stated, “My usual grey armor, if you call that wearing anything… Did you fall and hit your head or something?”

“I-I figured. Uh, I want that grey body so bad, my valve does. Will you touch it for me?” murmured Sunstreaker as he reenacted one of the phone chick’s he called up that offered phone sex as a service. They had been different species but Sideswipe had dared him to do it and then tell the femme to call him back… on Prowl’s comm. link. Listening to the audio later as Prowl crashed… it had made him hot.

“Okay … what’s wrong with you,” said the warlord as he sat up on his berth, confusion all over his face. Maybe he had fragged the poor Bot to hard last time.

“Nothing, just super hot. I’m in horny and my tight little port is just shivering for you. Uh, I’ll stick a few fingers in, mmmm. I wish they were you, oooh. I-is your cock getting hard for me?”

“If you keep talking like that, yes,” growled the warlord, already feeling a tightness under his cod piece.

Smiling coyly, his valve shivering in want, Sunstreaker cooed, “Oooh, uh, will you push it into my tight little hole.”

Lip twitching in irritation at the ridiculousness of this conversation, Megatron growled, “Perhaps if I was anywhere near you. Why are you taunting me? I will attack your base just to frag you if you keep this up!”

Laughing, fluid starting to drip in his vavle, the yellow bot purred, “Oooh, controlling. Are you going to punish me? Are you going to hold me down and fuck my … what’s the human word equivalent… my pussy-like hole?”

Teeth bared, confusion pressing into his helm, Megatron barked, “What does this have to do with a human feline? Do you want Ravage to hear this?”

Sunstreaker, finally slapped himself in the head, unable to keep himself stimulated with Megatron’s lack of grace in the subject of phone sex. Some mech’s just didn’t have it he supposed. Pulling his fingers out of his dampening hole, he stated, “Screw this… Megatron, I’m horny! I can’t have you right now, so I at least want you to help me get off!”

His words echoed and if Megatron didn’t suddenly start laughing heartily on the other side of the line, Sunstreaker might have worried that someone had heard him if Megatron hadn’t caught on, purring, “Oh… it’s that kind of call, huh? Why didn’t you say so in the beginning? Then… let me start off by … pinning you down.”

Blushing, though he knew the other couldn’t see him, he murmured, “W-why can’t I be on the top?”

Chuckling, his hand slowly reaching for his cod piece, Megatron laid down and offlined his optics as he continued, “Hmm, alright. Come here… my cock … uh… yeah, it’s getting hard just at the thought of you.”

Megatron grunted as he started teasing the tip of his spike, only to gasp at how quickly it popped up. Frag, he was already hard. What was up with his systems lately? J-just thinking of his Autobot made him horny. Maybe he should reconsider the idea of just taking the Autobot as a sex slave, but … with the way things were going he would rather have an accepting consort instead. A willing one to keep his berth warm and maybe one day … join him in battle, a wonderful thought.

He would make the Autobot see his point of view.

And be his.

Frag, that thought alone made him harder that frag, his spike getting stiffer. He moaned, the idea of taking that lovely aft night and night was scrumptious and he couldn’t help but whisper, “Uh, it’s getting hard for you, my little Autobot. If you want to be on top then, ride me. Ride my hard rod.”

Blinking, vents shallow, he nodded and murmured, “I-if you insist. J-just let me straddle you.”

Opening his subspace, he took out the stretcher and swallowed. It really was big, but he wanted something in his hole. Lip bit, Sunstreaker slowly started pushing it in his valve but there wasn’t enough lube yet. He grunted in frustration, not wanting to hurt himself, the yellow mech murmuring, “Ooh, I’m still not wet enough, but uh… I can see your spike. L-let me get you wet.”

Lifting what was supposed to be a medical tool up to his mouth, Sunstreaker  testingly licked the tip of it, murmuring, ”I-I’ve never given anyone a blow job before. T-they kind of … disgust me, but I want to taste you. I-I’m going to lick your spike.”

Offlining his optics, mouth opening gingerly towards the tool, he took the head into his mouth and started sucking. Megatron heard a wet sound and arched his hips, murmuring, “Oh, you started sucking me, didn’t you? Uh, this will be good practice for you. Now …open your jaw farther and take me deeper. Uh, frag.”

Megatron started pinched the head of his tool, moving downward as if there was a wet mouth on it, he groaned, moving his hand faster, “Y-yes, yes. Faster, move faster, swallow me whole.”

Sunstreaker was pumping it into his mouth trying to get deeper though not deep enough to gag. Then, pressing in as deep as he could, knowing that he wanted the whole thing in him and that it needed to be wet. He got the tool about three-fourths down his throat … and gagged.

Megatron, hearing the sound, onlined his optics and purred, “Shhh, don’t choke yourself. Come now, straddle me… What are you sucking on by the way?”

Gagging as he pulled the thing out of his mouth dripping oral fluid, Sunny choked, “Your stand-in… he might even be bigger than you.”

Frowning, jealousy peeking under his armor, the warlord promised the other mech a quick death as he growled, “Who? It better be you brother because …”

He didn’t want to say jealous, so he whispered, “I don’t want anyone hurting you.” When he really wanted to say he didn’t want anyone he didn’t approve of touching his little lover-bot.

Smiling, hearing the growl in the other’s voice, Sunstreaker murmured, “Oh, don’t be jealous. You’ll get to meet your replacement soon enough. You’ll love him… he’s big and thick … and wouldn’t mind if I left him hard in a drawer for a week.”

Optics becoming wide, the lord laughed, catching on. Huskily asking, “Bigger than me, huh? Well, you’ll have to introduce us later.”

Smiling, placing the wet dildo on the floor he murmured, “So … Are you hard for me?”

“Just … uh, get around my width. It misses your valve,” Megatron pinched his tool, moaning.

“My cock misses your valve as well,” purred Sunstreaker got on his knees and slowly got over the toy, whimpering as he slowly started to ease down, “Uh, god … I should use this thing more e-even though Ratchet s-said it wasn’t a toy. I-its so big. I-it hurts but it’s so good. Uh … Primus.”

Mind picturing the little Autobot throwing his head back as he was impaled made the warlord cry out as he squeezed his cock as hard as he could as if a tight valve was pressing over it.

Sunny moaned out, his valve slowly eating the dubbed-toy as he slid his legs farther and farther apart so he would slide down on the streatcher. Bucking, trying to make it feel good, Sunny whimpering, “Uh, uh… I’m so tight and i-it. I want your hot cock, frag! Frag!”

“Buck! Up and down, I want your mass, now move!” barked Megatron, his hand starting to move up and down as he imagined Sunstreaker lifting himself up and coming back down.

Not wanting to lose the illusion he was on Megatron’s cock, one hand balancing him as the other moved towards his own personal cock to pump it, the Lamborghini lifted himself up and then came down, whimpering, “Uh, uh… God, Primus, why am I so-so close already? I-it’s not going to take long. Oh, uh … Megatron. I want you so bad.”

Moving his hand faster, head falling back as he enjoyed the sound of Sunstreaker’s breathy vents through the communication feed, Megatron started shifting his hips wishing that Sunstreaker’s thinner hips were on top of his. His voice was husky as he replied, “T-that’s why I had Soundwave g-give you this communication line … I’ve been hard for days it seems and I can’t stop wanting my length inside you… cumming in you until you are so full it feels like your are going to burst inside.”

Moaning at the idea of hot cum spilling into him, something he hadn’t really care for in the past but was now pushing him closer to the edge, Sunny nodded, “I-I like that idea. Ugh, I’m-m getting closer. I-I have to pick up the pace.”

Biting his lip, hand moving faster on his own cock as he tried to multi-task on riding his dildo, fluids falling to the ground, moaning Sunny added, “P-please … We have to meet. We have to fuck … and my … my spark needs to be s-stabilized.”

Sunny immediately regretted his desperate words. He needed to stay away from Megatron’s spark until after the abortion, but he … he wanted the other so bad that it just popped out of his mouth.

Frowning, not liking the idea that his lover’s spark might be suffering, Megatron growled, “Then we must do something about it… This morning, before the sin rises. I don’t want you hurting. Now ride my cock. Faster, faster. Yes, yes, ugh… I love your little valve and how it lubes.”

Head bobbing, nodding, Sunstreaker felt his own cock getting really hard, painfully so and his valve tingled as he choked, “Yes, yes, yes. Primus, I’m getting so tight. I want the real thing. T-tonight. Please!”

Panting almost so hard he wanted to cry in want for release, Megatron whispered in an alluring voice, “Then come for me … the quicker we come… the quicker we can come together again.”

Sunstreaker, hearing that strong husky voice just for him, came, his cock spewing hot nanites into the air before splattering onto the cold stone, his voice whimpering, “I’m coming, I’m coming… ugh, my hot spike.”

Then, Megatron, going stiff, came as well, hot cum spilling between his thighs and over his hand and over his berth, his spike spurting even harder when Sunny whimpered again, choking, “M-my valve is now… Ugh … Oh Primus! It’s coming, ugh, its so … painful b-but good. Oh Megatron.”

Then, cum between his leg, staring at the soft glow that nanites gave off when they were still fresh from the host, Megatron asked, “So … how long before you can stand. I have some coordinates where we should meet.”

Still panting, last of his fluid coming into a puddle of nanites as his valve continued to suck at his make-shift dildo, the younger mech chuckled, “G-give me a minute.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people asked for some phone sex ... so that's what you got. :)


End file.
